


Life with Derek: Double or Nothing Remix

by unoriginal_liz



Series: Five (+1) Rooms with a View [6]
Category: Life with Derek
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6084102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginal_liz/pseuds/unoriginal_liz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Double genderswap.  Casey's the boy, Derek's the girl.</p>
<p>Casey took a determined breath, straightened the cuffs of his immaculately white shirt, and said, “I guess we should try to make the best of this.”</p>
<p>A black-clad Dereka slouched lower in her seat, arms folded, and said, “Where’s the fun in that?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> During the course of writing this series, and turning Casey and Derek into f/f and m/m couples, I think quaggy_mire pointed out that I had missed this particular twist of the Rubik's cube :) This fic resulted.
> 
> The timeline pretty much makes zero sense, but I had a lot of fun writing it anyway.

When Dereka Venturi’s father asked Casey McDonald’s mother to marry him, Dereka retreated to her room for a week, and played her music at the highest volume. She also wrangled close to seventy dollars from her father – which was impressive considering that she was also giving him the silent treatment.

When Casey McDonald’s mother accepted (conditionally) Dereka Venturi’s father’s proposal, Casey…did not try the silent treatment. Instead, he spent a week having rational, sane (though oddly high-pitched) discussions with his mother about the impracticality and impossibility of actually marrying George Venturi.

“It’s not Nora,” Dereka said, “Nora’s cool…ish.”

“It’s not George,” Casey told his mom. “George seems nice, if not exactly aware of the life-changing nature of something like a second marriage.”

In spite of their objections it ended with Dereka and Casey sitting next to each other and watching their respective parents take to the floor for their first dance as a married couple.

Casey took a determined breath, straightened the cuffs of his immaculately white shirt, and said, “I guess we should try to make the best of this.”

A black-clad Dereka slouched lower in her seat, arms folded, and said, “Where’s the fun in that?”

*****

Casey cared, while Dereka didn’t – or at least, pretended semi-convincingly, not to.

( _“You know, if I’d known the couch meant so much to you, I would never” –_

_“The couch doesn’t matter to me. It’s an inanimate object.”_

_“Then what” –_

_“I’m just telling you that…that you can’t suddenly impose your taste or your ugly soft furnishings on us.”_ )

Casey didn’t fit in, but in a generally inconspicuous way. Dereka stood out in the most obtrusive way possible.

( _“It’s nothing personal, I’m only saying that sometimes you come off as…kind of threatening.”_

_“I do? Good.”_ )

Casey wore his heart on his sleeve. Dereka buried hers beneath dark clothing, camouflaged it under layers of black eyeliner, shielded it with spiked jewelry, and pretended it didn’t exist.

( _“Okay – I like Emily. I’m not afraid to admit it. And I _know_ you like Trevor, and you’re just as upset as I am that he asked her out” –_

_“I’m not upset about that. I just think it’s disappointing when someone you know…betrays his principles. Though I guess I should have expected it – even The Clash sold out to the establishment in the end.”_ )

*****

They were two very distinct brands of unpopular – keener and social outsider, and in the normal scheme of things, their existences would have remained tidily separate.

But this _wasn’t_ the normal scheme of things, and instead they kept bumping into each other on the corner of Loser Boulevard. As well as on the stairs.

More than that, though, they kept finding reasons to venture into each other’s territory – she occasionally invaded Keener Central, while he sometimes breached the sanctity of Outsider’s Alley. 

And, a number of times that could be characterized as ‘more often than occasionally’, they found themselves working together – for the greater good, or the lesser evil, or a better grade in English.

It was mostly the fact that they were sharing a house and family, which made collaboration all but inevitable. Mostly. But beyond that – there was some weird force of loser-kinship that bound them together.

This wasn’t to say that they _liked_ each other.

But the thing was, underneath all the arguments, and the fundamentally different world views, and the unhealthy unsibling rivalry…they had developed some kind of rhythm. And even though the accompanying song wasn’t exactly to either of their musical taste, they both knew how to move to it.

Except that, suddenly, out of the blue something changed, and Casey couldn’t figure out why.

*****

He guessed it started with Dereka’s job. Or maybe not quite with Dereka’s job, because the whole firing-rehiring fiasco at Smelly Nelly’s was, if not familiar, at least par for the course. After Casey got fired/quit, Dereka left almost immediately, but insisted that it had nothing to do with solidarity.

_(“I didn’t do it for you. It just…hit me. I was literally Serving the Man. And adhering to His restrictive dress code.”)_

Casey saw through this for the face-saving measure it was, and said ‘thank you’ in the usual manner.

( _“Dress codes in the food service industry are an attempt to maintain a high standard of hygiene, and – thank you.”_ )

He also didn’t mention that those reasons never resurfaced when she went back to Smelly Nelly’s.

That was normal. For them.

So maybe it wasn’t the job that did it. Maybe the change started later. When Sally was hired. But that wasn’t exactly it, either, because when Sally started, Dereka had seemed…enthused. For Dereka. Reading between the disaffected lines, she had actually seemed to like Sally.

“At least she can take an order,” she shrugged. “Unlike Beth.”

“I still think you didn’t give Beth a fair chance,” Casey told her.

“She had two options – quit or stop sucking. It’s not my fault she chose quit.”

Looking back on it, the weird tension had seemed to start when _Casey_ met Sally.

*****

"You know, when I sold my soul for a raise, I knew I’d regret it sooner or later,” Dereka said, staring across the counter.

“Do you have Chamomile?” Casey asked as he studied the menu. “It’s very calming.”

“Not from the perspective of the person serving you,” Dereka muttered – but a couple of minutes later, she did bring his order to his table.

Even though Casey was correct about the calming properties of Chamomile, it was really just as calming to watch Dereka work while she pretended to ignore him. Which was why, when he accidentally knocked over his cup, twenty minutes later, it was still almost full. The cup rolled away, unharmed, but Lake Chamomile spread across the floor.

He looked at Dereka, who rolled her eyes and drew her arm back, presumably to pitch a towel in his direction – but before she could do that, another girl was bending down and mopping up the spill.

“Sorry,” Casey said. “It was an accident.”

“Are you sure about that?” the girl teased, “Because your range and scale is really impressive. You should think about taking up spilling professionally.”

She looked up at him, and Casey stared back, caught by her eyes and her smile and the warmth in her voice. It felt like…being stuck in a spider web, he thought. Beautiful and deceptively fragile, but impossible to escape from. Not that he wanted to escape.

Her smile took on a questioning tinge as he continued to stare.

“You should rub his nose in it,” a voice advised, finally shaking Casey out of his stupor. He glared at Dereka, who stood, leaning her hip against his table, arms folded. “It’s the only way he’ll learn.”

The girl got to her feet.

“Thanks,” Casey said, smiling at her.

“No problem. I’m Sally, by the way,” she told him.

_Sally_. He fitted the name to her hair, and smile, and eyes. He opened his mouth –

“Casey,” Dereka said, jerking her thumb at him.

“Oh,” Sally said. “You must be Dereka’s” –

“Yeah,” Dereka said, at the same time as Casey said, “Stepbrother, yes.”

*****

The worst thing about him and Dereka wasn’t that they were so dissimilar. It was that, in spite of their dissimilarities, in some ways they knew each other better than anyone else.

So Dereka figured out that he liked Sally pretty fast. He knew that she knew from that first evening, when they drove home and she refused to answer any of his questions about Sally.

“ – nice? She seems really nice.”

“Yeah – I already have to work with her, so I’m not really feeling the need to talk about her after hours.”

“I thought you liked Sally.”

Dereka shrugged.

Casey frowned. “You can’t just change your mind and suddenly not like her.”

“Sure I can,” she said, staring out the side window. “It’s called the female prerogative.”

But apart from that, Dereka didn’t mention Sally at all, lulling Casey into a false sense of security. He thought that maybe Dereka had learned tact…or maybe this was her strange way of signaling her approval of his choice.

It was a week of Chamomile and pining later when he was disabused of this notion. He was watching Sally smile at a customer and give her her change, when Dereka unceremoniously dropped a cloth onto his table.

He sighed and began to wipe it down.

“Don’t you ever get tired of living life in reruns?” Dereka asked.

He stopped. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she said flatly, before caving at his clueless expression and saying, “Fine. First you spend your time pining over Emily, the _literal_ girl-next-door – and now you’ve moved on to Sally, the _quintessential_ girl-next-door.” She paused. “Take it from a faithful, if unwilling, viewer – that storyline’s getting old. Mix it up a little.”

Casey stared at her, mouth open. “Okay, first of all, this is my _life_ , not a soap opera” –

Dereka shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

He glared. “And second of all – you can’t exactly _choose_ who you like” – Sally looked up from the counter and gave a little smile and wave – “Even if you want to,” he finished, as he waved back.

He could feel Dereka’s eyes on him, as he busied himself cleaning the tabletop.

“She’s already got a boyfriend, you know,” she said finally.

*****

Casey knew that Sally already had a boyfriend. It was kind of hard to miss when she spent so much time sitting in Casey’s booth and talking about him. Even though most of the time she didn’t exactly seem…happy.

“ – forgot. Again.” Sally sighed and played with the sachets of sugar. “You know, sometimes I wonder why we’re even together anymore.”

Casey’s heart thumped. “You…do?”

Sally twisted the pink packets between her fingers. “I don’t know. Sometimes I look at him and I think…five years is a _long_ time.” She sighed. “And other times, I think… _five years_ is a long time, and how can I break up with him just because he doesn’t give me flowers or tell me how he feels all the time?”

Casey wanted to say that he would bring Sally flowers for no reason, and he would never, ever leave her in doubt about his feelings – that he wanted to shout those feelings from the rooftops _right now_ …but his desire to do that got tangled with his need to be a good friend, and he ended up saying, uncertainly, “But – if you’re not happy…”

She bit her lip as she thought about it. “I’m not _un_ happy.”

“That’s not exactly the same thing,” Casey said, gaze dropping to Sally’s hands. She was still turning the sugar sachets over between her fingers.

When he looked up again, Sally’s eyes were intent and warm on his, but when she spoke, it was to change the subject slightly. “You’re such a good listener, Casey. I’m really glad I can talk about this stuff with you.” She began replacing the sugar sachets into the little bowl on her right. “I mean, Beth is great, but she’s not exactly…sane when it comes to romantic advice, and Dereka is” –

“Dereka,” Casey filled in.

She tipped her head to the side in covert acknowledgment, too nice to straightforwardly agree. “It’s good to talk to someone who really understands this stuff. Who really understands…me.”

Casey couldn’t help the jolt of hope that shot through him, so even though the conversation ended the way all those particular Sally-Patrick Should-I-Stay-Or-Should-I-Go conversations did (with Sally smiling softly at him for much too short a time, then slipping out of the booth and going back to work), he couldn’t help but feel a little bit optimistic.

Sally had said he understood this kind of stuff, understood _her_ …that was a good sign, right?

He thought this until later that night, until they were at home and Dereka poked him into half-revealing the reason for his good mood.

“Nothing…Sally and I talked. And I’m not smiling!”

“Oh yeah,” Dereka said. “Your talk. I guess I should congratulate you.”

“You should?” The possibility that Sally had said something to Dereka about him flicked across his mind, sudden and exciting, but he tried not to let it show in his voice. Even though Dereka was staring straight ahead at the television, he could sense the threat of a sudden and violent mood swing (cause unknown) on the horizon.

“Sure,” she said, continuing to flick through channels. “I mean, you’re Sally’s best girlfriend now, right?”

*****

The hum of wrong persisted, until eventually, Casey had to say something. The problem was, even though he planned a stealthy, low-key kind of discussion, in which a lot of hypotheticals were used – Casey couldn’t be low-key or stealthy or anything but impassioned when it came to his feelings.

And Dereka, who was uncomfortable expressing genuine feelings at the best of times, and being confronted with Casey’s feelings in full technicolour, went into full on deny-and-refute mode.

“ – bothers you, but Sally is – Sally is my friend and” –

“It doesn’t bother me,” she denied, voice bored and a too-blank expression on her face that only frustrated Casey more. If they couldn’t express themselves openly and honestly, how were they supposed to deal with the problem?

“I mean,” Dereka continued, twisting her studded bracelet round and round on her wrist. Casey looked at her, hopeful, “It bothers me because you’re hanging around Smelly Nelly’s – and by extension, me – all the time. But other than that – you and Sally?” she rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Besides,” she finished, words pinging out like pebbles, as she smiled blandly, “It’s not like anything’s ever going to happen between you guys anyway.”

The weird thing was, Dereka’s argument didn’t even make sense. Sure, maybe Casey was hanging around more (even though because of the shared household and the unspoken ‘outcasts find their own level’ motto of highschool, he and Dereka had always spent a lot of time together). But since he was focused on Sally, that meant he was spending less time with Dereka, not more.

The hum of weird didn’t disappear, or change, but Casey grew a little more accustomed to it – like background noise, it became easier to tune out.

Until the Prom.

*****

Funnily enough, the Prom incident started out…almost promisingly.

To no-one’s surprise, Dereka maintained her usual left-of-centre attitude and came out as firmly anti-Prom. “Oh great. An homage to conformity and the in-crowd. With sucky music.”

Normally, Casey would have provided a spirited argument for a more idealistic interpretation of the event. To him, the formality and traditions seemed – appealingly old fashioned. A special night, in special clothes, with that special person, it seemed…classical. Elegant. Romantic.

Of course, most of that charm vanished without the special person, and without the chance of spending a night of dreams with the girl of his dreams, Prom ceased to mean anything much.

Accordingly, Casey remained fairly detached from all things Prom at SJST High, making him and Dereka almost…collaborators in normalcy. A fact which Dereka noticed and commented on, in the wake of a run in with Sheldon Shlepper, who stopped her in the middle of the corridor and earnestly asked her advice on corsages.

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’ve lived next to Emily all your life – you have a tactical advantage,” he explained.

“Yeah. Years of practice ignoring her,” Dereka informed him. She plucked the notebook from his hands and held it between finger and thumb, as if holding it properly would contaminate her. “Seriously, Shlepper – don’t you think this is a Prom too far, even for you?”

He snatched back his notebook, a look of wounded dignity on his face and said, “I just want this to be perfect, that’s all.” He stalked down the corridor, and Dereka shook her head.

“You know, I thought if I had to tell anyone not to get their formal shorts in a knot, it’d be you,” she said, dismissively, but without bite, to Casey.

“I’m not really feeling Prom Fever,” Casey said, as he watched Sheldon vanish behind a crowd of girls, who were describing dresses by means of enthusiastic hand gestures and high pitched squealing. “I mean, I can understand his point – a little preparation and planning and…the right person…it’s a magical night.”

Dereka opened her mouth, but at that precise moment, one of the Prom squad said, in a loud voice, “ –royal blue charmeuse– with _beading_.”

The other girls dissolved in a high-pitched flurry of approval. Dereka winced and said, “Okay, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything you said after Prom Fever.”

“It’s lonely being sane,” she explained, not even looking at him as they walked – not exactly together, but in the same direction, “and weirdly, you seem to be the only one not dorkgasming over organza and corsages…”

Casey felt a momentary pang at this, but it was lost to a new, yet somehow familiar feeling, that made him swallow back the looming depression and say, “Guess it’s just us then.”

Dereka didn’t answer, but as they made their way to class, Casey took a second to appreciate the sensation of being _almost_ in step with her again.

*****

Upon hearing of their Prom non-plans, Nora was initially opposed.

“It’s an over-rated, overhyped and watered-down disco,” Dereka told her.

Nora sighed. “I know there’s that aspect, but…it’s also a rite of passage. Maybe it’s not – cool…but one day you and Casey might regret not going.”

Dereka didn’t look up from her magazine. Casey stared at her fingernails, black against the glossy cover as she offered, “In some cultures scarification – cutting words or designs onto the body using brands or knives – is a rite of passage.”

Nora digested this in silence. “Okay. Why don’t I get some DVDs for you guys that night?”

*****

Weirdly, knowing that he and Dereka intersected on this non-participation in Prom thing (even if their reasons for this were very different), made Casey feel a little less lonely. Accordingly, when Dereka started bringing her camera to school and filming the pre-Prom-process (to create a feature imaginatively titled, ‘Prompaganda’) Casey helped by luring Prepsters initially reluctant to talk to Dereka, into interviews.

“It’s a documentary and a horror story,” she said, as she reviewed some of her footage for the day – a cringeworthy interview with Ralph’s date, made amazingly even more cringeworthy when Sheldon Shlepper leapt into shot.

“Is he sick?” Lizzie asked, a small line between her eyebrows as Sheldon began an impassioned speech describing his love for Emily and/or squirrels.

“Yes,” Dereka said, at the same time Casey said, “No.”

“Prom is a disease,” Dereka explained. “It infects the weak and stupid.”

“It’s not a disease,” Casey told Lizzie, somewhat sympathetic to Sheldon’s cause. He remembered how he’d felt about Emily, his new feelings for Sally, and knew that the promise of a magical night would have likewise sent him spinning too (though he hoped in a more internalized ‘make-everything-perfect’ kind of quest). “It’s just…easy to get swept up in the moment.” 

He couldn’t help it – his mouth quirked wistfully at the sight of Sheldon deliberating between pictures of various corsages.

“Left unchecked, that kind of attitude can develop into stage one of Prom Fever…school spirit,” Dereka said, examining him. “Which is the antithesis of free thought. Avoid all formalwear for the next twenty four hours and work on building up your apathy,” she advised him, one clipboard and a medical degree away from professional diagnosis. 

Casey slumped back on the couch. In spite of Dereka’s words, he figured it didn’t matter whether he cultivated his apathy or not. It wasn’t like his susceptibility to Prom Fever was going to be tested, or anything.

*****

As if to underline how little the Prom meant to her, Dereka had scheduled her late shift for that night – and deprived of the prospect of a magical night with the girl of his dreams, Casey decided to settle for a mundane night with her instead.

But when he showed up at Smelly Nelly’s, Sally was just locking the door behind her.

“Hey!” she said, surprised but pleased.

“Hey,” Casey echoed. “What’s happening?”

“We’re closing up early. It was pretty dead, so…sorry, I can’t give you your Chamomile fix tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Casey was quick to reassure her, “I’ve been meaning to cut down…on my…non-caffeinated beverages…anyway…” He stopped, and tried a new subject. “Where’s Dereka?”

“She had to go – got a call about some Prom-related emergency, so she left me to lock up.”

Casey blinked.

“I was surprised too,” Sally said. “But I’m actually more surprised to see you here.”

“Why?” Casey asked, trying for flirtatious-yet-still-appropriately-friendly banter. “Did you think I was seeing other coffee shops? You know you’re first for all my herbal tea related needs.” He stopped before any more awkward words could fumble their way out of his mouth.

“Um, no,” Sally said, eyebrows rising and a smile twitching at her mouth, and Casey suddenly didn’t feel so bad. “I meant – I’m surprised you’re here, instead of at the Prom. You seem like the kind of guy who’d be into that kind of thing.”

Memories of some of Dereka’s more disparaging comments re: Prom and the saps who bought into it, rang in Casey’s head. “What?” he said, aiming for nonchalance, but probably coming off a little defensive. “Dorky?”

Sally considered him. “Sweet,” she said. “And romantic. Now spill – what happened?”

“Nothing. There just…wasn’t anyone I wanted to go with,” Casey managed, feeling his face heat up.

“Ah – too shy to ask her out, huh?” Sally asked, smiling. “Well, you’re in luck. I may not be the girl of your dreams, but I just so happen to have a never been worn Prom dress that I’ve been dying to bust out. So why don’t you go home and see if you have anything to wear – and meet me at my place?”

Casey stared. “You – want to go to Prom with me?”

“Sure,” Sally said. “I mean, why not? Patrick’s out of town, and like I said, I have the dress…” she trailed off. “Unless – you don’t want to go with me?”

“No!” Casey said. “Of course I – that is…I’d love to go with you!”

“Great!” Sally said.

*****

As Casey burst through the door, he was already mid-way through a freak-out –

“ – formalwear! I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but do you think anything in George’s closet qualifies?”

Nora, standing in the middle of the living room, and gazing at the stairs, looked momentarily puzzled, but adapted with an ease that told of practice with these kinds of freak-outs. “Casey slow down – you can’t expect me to underst…did you just say formalwear?”

Casey nodded.

Nora clapped her hands together. “Does that mean…?”

Casey nodded again, powerless to stop the grin that spread over his face when he thought that Sally, the girl of his dreams, was actually going to the Prom with him.

Nora made a happy sound. “I’m so glad you decided to go after all! I’ll go look through George’s wardrobe – stay right there!”

She scurried off to the basement, and Casey obediently stayed there…just in time to see Dereka descend the stairs, flanked by Lizzie and Marti.

“The deal is one. One photograph, and I reserve the right to not smile,” Dereka said, before suddenly stopping on the last step. “Where’s Nora?”

Casey ignored the question in favour of staring. The dress she was wearing wasn’t floor-length royal blue charmeuse with beading – it was red and grey plaid, with a thin black studded belt around the waist, and it came to above the knee. There were no fussy gloves or jeweled combs – she wore the same cheap black chain choker as always, but still, the conclusion Casey came to seemed inescapable.

“You’re going to the Prom?” he asked, when he remembered how to speak. In spite of all the evidence, it still came out as a question.

Dereka shrugged. “Ralph’s date bailed.”

Lizzie cleared her throat.

“Which might have been my fault – if you consider ‘empowering girls to resist conformist norms’ to be a mistake.”

“Ralph was sad,” Marti told her, words underscored with the inexorable logic that Dereka had caused this.

“So you’re…going to Prom?”

“Yeah,” Dereka said. She held up a finger. “But this is not a lame last minute turnaround.” She raised her right hand, exposing a small camcorder. “I _pretend_ to be just another dead-eyed Prombie, but in reality…I’m _undercover_.”

Casey stared at Dereka, who, even when attempting to camouflage herself as a typical dead-eyed Prombie, succeeded only in looking more like herself than ever.

Marti poked her in the side.

“Also, you know, helping Ralph,” Dereka mumbled, sounding embarrassed to be caught caring. She cleared her throat. “And I had the dress anyway, for Abby’s graduation, so…”

Something in the way she said it, determinedly matter-of-fact, made him wonder whether some of Dereka’s Anti-Prom sentiments could be put down to the same alienation Casey felt – the loneliness of having no-one to ask, and knowing that no-one was going to ask him, either.

At that precise moment, Nora appeared, a white dinner jacket in her hands. “I found it! Casey – do you think this will” –

She stopped. “Dereka – you look…where’s my camera?” She pushed the jacket into Casey’s hands, and he held it out, a frown on his face. It was better than a baby-blue tuxedo…but that was because there were very few things that were worse than a baby-blue tuxedo.

“It’s retro?” Nora tried.

“Totally retro. I think Dad got it from one of the original Bee-Gees,” Dereka said. A frown appeared as she asked Casey, “Are you going to Prom too?”

“He is,” Nora said, clasping his shoulders happily. “Hey – maybe you can all share Ralph’s car!”

“Sally asked me,” Casey said to Dereka, who hadn’t taken her eyes off him during Nora’s interjection. “It’s – she has this dress, and I said…well, she said…”

Dereka looked at him in disgusted disbelief before the familiar blank expression settled on her face.

*****

The drive to Sally’s place was a quiet one. Dereka stared out the window and Ralph…concentrated on being Ralph. In formalwear.

Casey meanwhile, was determined not to give Dereka the satisfaction of knowing that her bad mood had any effect on him.

“You know, I really don’t see why this is such a big deal for you,” he burst out finally.

Derek flicked her eyes over to him momentarily. “It’s not a big deal for me,” she said, sounding bored. “It’s a big deal for _you_.”

“Sally and I are friends, and” –

“You’re not her _friend_ ,” Dereka interrupted, still looking out the window. “You’re her back-up boyfriend. Congratulations, by the way.”

Stung, he returned, “Yeah, well, you’re _Ralph’s_ back-up date, and you don’t seem to have a problem with that.”

“That’s different,” she said, a ‘the subject is closed’ note in her voice.

“I don’t see how,” Casey argued, refusing to let it drop.

She finally turned away from the window. She didn’t say anything, but she fixed him with a long, hard, ‘there’s no way you are this stupid’, kind of look, and she held it long enough for Casey to become uncomfortable, before she twisted her head to the side and stared out the glass again.

“Hey, guys, how do you retie a bow-tie?” Ralph asked.

*****

And in spite of Dereka’s attempts to dampen it, it was the best night ever – a theme-appropriate Night of Dreams. It was. Dancing with Sally was every bit as amazing as he’d thought it would be – even though he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was just her –

_back-up_

\- _friend_. And Sally looked like – well, Sally, except even more beautiful, in this red dress that she always wanted to wear to her real Prom, so she was extra excited about wearing it to this -

_back-up_ –

\- _also very real_ Prom. And really, the only piece of grit in the fairy dust was the fact that he could feel Dereka not-looking at him as he twirled with Sally on the floor.

In fact, Dereka didn’t catch his eyes once, not even when Sheldon Shlepper went into full Prom meltdown and proposed to Emily Davis in front of everyone.

Of course, everything else was so perfect, Prom-wise, that Casey wasn’t lying when he told George and Nora that it had been great, afterwards.

Dereka on the other hand, deemed the Prom to be, “As big a disappointment as I already figured.” She didn’t look at him while she said it, and he and Sally didn’t appear even once in her Prom footage.

*****

Funnily enough, the major turning point in his and Sally’s relationship didn’t have anything to do with Dereka. Casey didn’t know why that should seem weird to him, since his and Sally’s relationship had nothing to do with Dereka, since it was _his and Sally’s_ relationship – but it did.

Shortly after Prom, Sally and Patrick broke up. Or – according to Dereka’s version of the story, “Patrick dumped her.”

Regardless of who had broken up with whom, or why…the fact remained. Sally was now single, and (after giving her an appropriate, respectful period of time to work through the remaining issues and achieve closure) Casey planned to take full advantage of that opportunity.

Accordingly, Casey spent two weeks being cheerful and supportive and determinedly agenda-less, before deciding that this was enough time for Sally to have moved on, and innocently asking Dereka whether she was working that night.

Sprawled on her bed, Dereka looked up from her notebook and frowned. “Why?” she asked, then stiffened. In a voice filled with accusation, she said, “Oh no – you’re going to ask Sally out, aren’t you?”

“What – I – I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Casey denied. He bit his lip. “Does Sally know too?”

“I don’t know how anyone could miss you gearing up to an awkward date-invite, but if anyone could miss it, I guess it’d be Sally.” She started drawing black-inked stars at the bottom of her page – small and sharp-edged. “And yeah, I am working tonight, so I guess you’ll just have to postpone your inevitable humiliation.” She shaded in a star so hard the pen went right through the page.

He felt anger flare through him. “You know – I really don’t get why this is such a big deal to you! I mean – okay, maybe when she was seeing Patrick you could argue that…but even then, we were just being friends. We were just good friends then and” –

“You mean, one of you was,” Dereka interrupted. “The other one was too busy taking advantage.”

Casey couldn’t help it – in spite of the fact that he _knew_ that Dereka sometimes got irrational about certain subjects, and that it wasn’t anything _personal_ – a painful blush scorched his skin at the thought that Dereka would insinuate that he had somehow taken advantage of Sally by being her friend. It wasn’t – he knew it wasn’t true, but there was something hurtful in the idea that Dereka might believe it. He’d thought – in spite of their differences – that they knew each other better than that.

In spite of the fact that it was impossible to make Dereka change her mind or retract an opinion, he couldn’t help but say, with stiff conviction, “I would _never_ use my friendship with Sally to” –

Dereka frowned. “What are you talking about?” She stopped. “I didn’t mean _you_.”

“Then what –?” he trailed off, and shook his head, because this was digressing from the issue at hand, which was, “And I’m going to ask her out, anyway.”

“And she’s going to turn you down,” Dereka said. “And – now that you know how this ends, you no longer have to do it. You’re welcome.”

Casey shrugged. “I’m still going to ask her.” He went after Dereka with the only weapon in his arsenal that had been known to work, pure vulnerability. “There’s a shot, right? And – I have to take it.”

She looked at him. “Just because you follow the Disney formula, doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed the feel-good ending.”

“I know,” he said. “And you can make fun of me all you want, but – I know this is the right thing to do. I mean – sometimes, you have to take the chance – just to see if you can make it happen…make it real. Sometimes you have to take the chance,” he repeated.

There was a moment, while they looked at each other, when something in Dereka’s expression shifted, and her mouth opened slightly, as if she was going to say something – something _real_. And in spite of the fact that mostly, they managed to function on some bizarre code that bypassed anything overt in favour of subtlety and implications and what- _wasn’t_ -said, Casey found himself leaning towards her with vast and gaping anticipation.

But the nano-second of ‘almost…something’ passed and instead, Dereka said, sounding a little more subdued than normal, “You know, your sincerity is really starting to affect my irony levels, so…” she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Disappointed, Casey took the hint and headed for the door. He guessed this was as close as he was going to get to acceptance of his decision regarding Sally.

*****

“I – you’re my friend, Casey. We’re friends, and I – I really never thought of you that way…I’m sorry.”

“No,” Casey said, with difficulty. “It’s – okay.” He tried to smile at her. In spite of his words to Dereka, rejection was never easy to deal with.

“We can still be friends, right? I really like you, Casey – as a friend…and I don’t want to lose that.” She gazed at him with mute appeal in her eyes and he was powerless to resist.

“You don’t have to,” he found himself saying. “Of course we’re still friends.”

“Good,” she said, and smiled, relieved. “I’m so glad you said that.” She got to her feet, then hesitated. “It’d…probably be better if we gave each other some space for a while, though, before we go back to – normal.”

Casey could do nothing but nod.

She lingered for a moment. “Thank you for the flowers.”

He stared down at the table for several long minutes, contemplating getting up. He’d have to walk past Sally to get to the door, and at the moment, rejection still mouthwateringly fresh, that seemed completely impossible. He couldn’t do it.

He’d just have to sit there, all night, while around him, everyone left. He could imagine himself sitting there, in the same position, as Sally flicked off the lights and went home. It seemed more plausible than actually leaving his seat and walking the seventeen miles to the door.

But just as he was resigning himself to permanent residence in Smelly Nelly’s, a voice broke into his thoughts.

“Okay – get your coat, because I am ten minutes past ready to blow this popsicle stand.”

He stared up at Dereka, who held out both hands, and raised her eyebrows.

“What?” he said. Considering the mashed and mangled state of his heart, he was quite proud of his coherence.

“Leaving,” Dereka said. “Going. Getting out of here. I’m driving, by the way.”

“But it’s not closing time.”

“Early shift tonight,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

He didn’t have time to say that no, she hadn’t, before she was saying, “If you want that lift, you’d better hurry, because I’m leaving…” she consulted her watch, “…now.”

Casey got to his feet, and then somehow, they were walking past Sally, while Dereka called out a goodbye and Casey managed a mumble that possibly passed for one…and they were out the door, and he could breathe.

*****

It was a week and a half later before Casey went back to Smelly Nelly’s. As a matter of fact, even then he wasn’t entirely comfortable – but he swallowed that down and thought important thoughts about ‘being a good friend’, and walked back into Smelly Nelly’s.

He didn’t exactly get the reception he was expecting.

“Hi,” he said to Sally, as she passed his table, and she said, “Casey – hi,” back, but devoid of her usual warmth.

“Um – can I get” – he began.

“The usual? Sure,” Sally said, without stopping or even slowing down.

When she brought the tea to his table, in complete silence, as if putting down a small teapot and cup was a task that required all her concentration, he asked her about it. “Sally – is something wrong?”

“No,” she said, voice higher than normal. “Not at all. Everything’s fine.” She left.

Only to turn around again, and say, “Okay. Something _is_ wrong.” She sat in the chair opposite his and said, “I don’t see you for a week, and now, suddenly, you’re back?”

Casey’s heart sank, and he began to think that maybe he hadn’t given Sally enough space.

“I’m sorry, I” –

“Are you punishing me for not dating you?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Because I really wouldn’t have expected that from you,” she said.

He stared at her. “What – I…you said you wanted some space.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, sounding small and unsure, “But…I didn’t want you to just – disappear like that, either.”

Casey felt the same, helpless pull as he looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

*****

“So she asks you to give her space, then gets mad at you when you leave her alone,” Dereka mused.

“Of course it sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Casey said.

“Is there another way of saying it?” she asked. “Should I use an accent?”

“Please don’t – I’ve heard your Spanish and French,” Casey said. “Anyway, I understand what Sally means,” he defended. “Feelings are complicated. You can ask someone to do something and still…be mad at them for doing it.”

Dereka stopped. “I can’t believe this. You’re taking her side.”

“What side?” Casey asked. In his mind, he could still see the hurt look on Sally’s face when she talked about him disappearing.

*****

In the end, it turned out that Sally didn’t actually need that much space, in fact, they were spending more time together now, than before he’d asked Sally out. Strictly as friends, of course, Casey told himself firmly, every time he got close enough to smell Sally’s shampoo, or her hand brushed his, or his eyes lingered too long on her smile.

They were just friends.

That was until one evening, coincidentally, on Dereka’s day off, when Sally squashed herself companionably into his booth, and said, “I want to try something.”

Then, before Casey could say, “What?” she kissed him.

It only lasted a second, and when she drew back, she raised her eyebrows at him, quizzical.

It probably wasn’t very romantic, but mostly, what Casey felt was confused. “I – thought we were just friends,” he said.

Sally smiled at him, a small, soft smile. “Yeah, I decided I like your version better.”

And she kissed him again.

*****

When he got home, still feeling a mixture of dizziness and triumph, the first person he told was Dereka. She was sprawled on the couch and eating a sandwich, and when she saw him, she said, not sounding particularly interested, “Why so cheerful, McDonald? Snag an extra-credit assignment or something?”

“Sally kissed me,” he said, words coming out in a rush. “So she _does_ care about me, and – I think we’re probably dating now.”

Dereka put down her sandwich and got to her feet. Without another word, she turned and headed for her room, feet thumping on the stairs. A minute later and loud, painful sounding music was issuing from her room.

Edwin walked in from the kitchen. He looked up at the ceiling, then took note of the fact that Casey was wearing a jacket, and remarked, “From emo to screamo in less than five minutes – what did you _do_?”

“Nothing,” Casey said, staring at the stairs in confusion.

*****

Nora had an explanation. “It’s probably a little awkward for her – Sally’s her friend…co-waitress…and you’re her stepbrother. She’s probably worrying about how your relationship with each other affects her. When people get into relationships…it can be intense – and it can change how they interact with friends. And family.”

Casey could kind of see her point – his new relationship with Sally was kind of all consuming. The only girl he’d ever spent that much time with was Dereka, and that wasn’t exactly the same thing.

After about a week of pretending nothing was wrong, acting like every disaffected indie teen protagonist turned up to eleven, and blasting her ‘music’ at decibels that made everyone in the house fervently wish for deafness, the worst seemed to have passed, and Dereka went back to acting like normal with everyone else in the family. Except for Casey.

He’d thought the hum of wrong was bad – but it was nothing compared to the fingernails on blackboard screech of things-being-amiss that replaced it.

He hadn’t ever thought that what he and Dereka had, worked. But looking back, in this new absence of connection, he realized that it had. In its own, ridiculously complicated and unnecessary kind of way – like a steampunk machine from an alternate universe.

He kind of missed it, but whenever he tried to bring it up, Dereka looked at him like she had no idea who he was and flicked back the notes he passed her with things like, “?? steampunk ?? you do know we’re in Spanish class??” written on the remaining white space.

Of course, he did have Sally, to make up for it. And she did – except for a tiny remaining niggle that he felt sometimes, when he and Sally sat in a Smelly Nelly’s booth planning their Saturday dates, and he looked up and happened to catch Dereka’s eye.

But enough time passed, and Dereka didn’t show any signs of returning to normal, and – Casey kind of got used to it. In a way that nagged at him every so often.

Both he and Dereka would have maintained this uneasy equilibrium, if it hadn’t been for Sally’s college plans.

And Truman French.


	2. Chapter 2

The rot didn’t set in just like _that_ , of course. There was an extended period of coupledom-bliss first. Sally came by for dinners, she started advising Edwin – who hung adoringly on her every word – about girls and hygiene, and she even co-ordinated Marti’s birthday party.

Basically, she became part of the family.

“Yeah. She’s that Stepford cousin we never wanted,” Dereka said.

Obviously, even prolonged exposure to the sweetness and kindness of Sally had no effect on Dereka’s vague but deep-rooted antipathy.

“She’s sweet and kind,” Casey told her, stung. “She does things that make other people happy – remember Marti’s birthday party?” Marti’s love for her Princess Party was undeniable.

Of course, being Dereka, she found a way to twist it. “No – she organizes _other_ people into doing that stuff. Therefore, she is not responsible for the resulting ‘happiness’.”

Casey knew she was remembering the (brief) period when it had seemed like Marti’s party was heading for fiasco-ville – but that hadn’t been Sally’s fault. Taking on the burden of organizing a birthday party single-handedly was a lot of pressure…and anyway – with a little help from various persons that might or might not have included Dereka – it had all worked out.

“Yeah – well at least she _tries_ ,” he said. “She doesn’t just hang back and make fun of the people who put themselves out there.”

Dereka made a face. “Subtle,” she said. “And by the way, I could organize stuff if I wanted. Except _my_ stuff? Would actually work out without me having to guilt other people into finishing it for me.”

“Yeah,” Casey agreed. “The imaginary things you fictionally organize in Pretend-land always work out. It’s such a shame we live in a place called the Real World, where you have to back up your statements with a little thing I like to call ‘proof.’”

*****

It showed Dereka’s dedication to the ignoble art of Casey-baiting, he thought, that his words spurred her to the organization of an open mic night at Smelly Nelly’s.

Even though Dereka probably thought that convincing her boss (notoriously opposed to anything free) to host said entertainment, as well as signing up and scheduling the various acts, served to prove her point – Casey thought it actually proved his. Yes, Dereka had actually pulled off something requiring organization and forward planning…but Sally was nothing but supportive and helpful of Dereka the whole time, demonstrating her sweetness and kindness, and the irrationality of Dereka’s dislike.

Unfortunately, Casey didn’t really have time to gloat.

It started when he stopped by Smelly Nelly’s to give Sally some I-was-just-thinking-of-you flowers.

“Thanks,” Sally said, still poring over the sign up sheet for open mic night.

“They’re daisies – your favourite,” Casey said.

Sally finally looked up and smiled. “Thank you – they’re lovely.”

“I just wanted to let you know how amazing I think you are,” he said, looking at Sally in her Smelly Nelly’s uniform and still feeling a little bit blinded by her. “I mean – here you are, doing everything to help Dereka, and…she didn’t even have to ask you. You’re amazing, and I’m so glad you’re my girlfriend.”

“That’s so sweet, Casey. I’m glad you’re my boyfriend too.” Sally smiled again – but it wasn’t as wide or effortless as usual.

Concerned, Casey asked, “Is something wrong?”

“What? No. No. Nothing’s wrong,” she said, brushing past him.

“Because you know you can tell me anything,” he persisted, following.

She stopped and turned. “This is going to sound so silly.” She sighed. “It _is_ silly – I know how you feel about me, and it makes me happy, it does, but” –

“But?”

“But…don’t you sometimes wish that – it could be like the first time all over again? Like – we could find a new way to tell each other how we feel, and it would be – exciting again. Different.”

She shook her head a little. “I’m being ridiculous, I know.”

Casey took a breath as he realized that his just-because flowers, and the little folded-up notes he sometimes left, and the way he always held doors open for her, were no longer enough. It was important not to panic, he told himself. Sally was communicating something important to him, and if he lost sight of that in panic, then the problem would only get worse.

His eyes fell on the sign up sheet, and suddenly, he knew exactly how to fix things.

“You’re not being ridiculous,” he said. “And I’m going to find a new way to show you how I feel – I’m going to write a song for you.”

The way Sally looked at him then, pleased and slightly breathless, made everything okay.

*****

The words and the melody came easily – it was only when Casey tried to put the finishing touches on the song that he ran into trouble.

Dereka stared down at the sheet music, an unimpressed look on her face. Even though that was practically her default expression, Casey still felt inexplicably nervous.

“See, Sally wanted me to find a new way to express my feelings for her and” –

“And let me guess, you said, ‘Would you like that in 4/4 time or 6/8?’”

Casey thought this – asking Dereka for help – was more of a testament to his feelings for Sally than even the song. “Maybe you could do the backing track for me?” he asked. “I’ll pay.”

Even though Dereka looked at him for a long moment, Casey could tell that there wasn’t even a second of consideration given to his proposal.

“I refuse to be associated – even peripherally – with that kind of saptastic crap,” she said finally. Pushing the sheet music at him, she continued, “And by the way, when you’re with me, could you please repress whatever it is Sally wants you to express? For the sake of my gag reflex.”

The thing was – it worked out for him, even without Dereka’s help. Sally loved the a capella rendition of his feelings, and it made her smile that wide soft smile he liked so much, and throw her arms around him – which he also liked. It was a complete success.

But he still felt a little dissatisfied.

It would have been better with a backing track.

*****

It was during this state of not-quite-perfect that Truman French entered their lives.

He didn’t arrive with a whiff of brimstone and a clap of thunder, which Casey would later think was unfair and misleading. No, at first, he was just the new guy. And, according to Dereka, he wasn’t even a very interesting new guy.

“The only thing worse than a Preppie, is a Preppie without a cause,” she said, flicking dismissive eyes over Truman as he leaned against the lockers and took in his surroundings. He caught Dereka looking at him, and tilted his head at her. Unabashed, she widened her eyes and instigated a staredown. He blinked and half-smiled, which she took as an acknowledgment of victory. She turned back to Casey and Emily – who, might or might not have chosen to sit with them because their spot afforded an excellent view of said new guy.

“According to my info, he transferred from a private school in Toronto,” Emily said, assessing Truman. She ducked her head and smiled down at her notebook as soon as he caught her eye. “And I think he’s kind of cute.”

“Transferred from private school – so he’s an _entitled_ Preppie,” Dereka mused.

“You don’t know that,” Casey retorted, stung, given that _he’d_ transferred from private school.

“Yeah. I do. From experience,” Dereka said, swinging herself to her feet, apparently done with the topic of Truman.

*****

Unfortunately, the topic of Truman was not so easily dispensed with, given the water-cooler conversation starter that was the Truman List.

When Casey found out about it, he was outraged.

“I am outraged!” he said. “I can’t believe that anyone would stoop to such a demeaning, degrading, _outrageous_ ” –

“So how’s Dereka taking it?” Emily asked.

“How’s she taking what?”

“Her rating. Didn’t she tell you? She got a six and a half.” Emily paused. “Which I thought was pretty good going, actually, considering some of the kind of stuff she wears.”

“He rated Dereka?” Casey asked. For some reason it surprised him. Considering the clear alternative outsider vibe she projected, he wouldn’t have thought she and Truman would even register on each other’s radar.

“Casey, he rated _everyone_ ,” Emily told him, with the exasperation of someone to whom this is old news. “Every girl in the entire grade.”

*****

He waited for Dereka outside the girls’ bathroom, and when she finally emerged, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, looking and sounding confused – but aggressively so, so that Casey knew that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Still, he lowered his voice and said, awkward, “You know – the…Truman List.”

“Yeah – it’s a ‘Who’s Hot, Who’s Not’ list, not a terminal illness. I don’t think you need to whisper.”

“Are you upset?” he persisted.

“Why? Because some guy who looked like a Prepster Douche acted like a Prepster Douche? No, surprisingly, I’m not upset.”

“Not about that…about – your rating.”

“Why would I be upset about that?” she asked, concentrating on hoisting up her shoulderbag.

“Be – cause,” Casey said, a little flummoxed by the question. It was like trying to explain why rain was wet. “I know that I’d be upset if I were a girl.”

“Don’t talk so fast, dude. Jury’s still out on that one,” Dereka said, setting off at a brisk pace up the corridor.

He chased after her, insult barely registering. “Studies have shown that girls’ body image can be adversely affected by societal pressure, advertisements and objectification – especially during the teen years. Something like this” –

Dereka stopped and whirled around, and after a glance at her fierce expression, Casey offered, in a softer tone, “It’s _okay_ to be upset. It doesn’t make you weak.”

Dereka held his gaze. “Do I look like a statistic to you?” she asked.

*****

Despite the bravado, it was obvious as Casey watched her at dinner that evening, that it did bother her. Of course, part of her bad mood could have been due to Casey’s attempts to get her to open up – but Casey stood by his methods. Internalization was the first step down the steep staircase of Negative Body Image.

Casey watched her fork her food violently, and he was suddenly angry at Truman. Dereka was _Dereka_ , and this stupid list penalized her for having the confidence to be unique and scary and _herself_.

He found himself suddenly saying, “Don’t you think that the beauty standards to which modern women are held– are prohibitive? I do.”

“Well,” his mom began, only to be interrupted by Dereka, who narrowed her eyes and said, “For the last time, I don’t care about the stupid List.”

George looked up inquiringly. “What list?”

“It’s just your run of the mill heterosexist bullsh” –

George coughed loudly.

“-shtick,” Dereka finished smoothly, “That I don’t even care about, so can we just drop it?”

“This guy at school has been rating all the girls in our grade,” Casey explained.

Nora’s mouth dropped open. “No!”

“I know – it’s a gross violation” –

“That I really don’t care about so can we. please. stop. talking. about. it,” Dereka interrupted, scowling at her plate.

“Good for you,” Nora said.

“Yeah – who cares what some immature guy thinks,” George told her.

“I don’t know – I think it’s kind of practical,” Edwin said. “Like sports rankings.”

Lizzie thumped him.

“I think it’s bullshtick,” Marti said.

*****

But it didn’t end there, because the next morning, Dereka thumped down the stairs and into the kitchen in baggy pants and a crumpled, oversized dark grey tee-shirt. Across the chest, in white, there was a picture of a barbeque with the advice ‘Guard Your Grill’ underneath.

She very carefully didn’t strike a pose as she asked, “How do I look?”

George and Nora exchanged glances. In the wake of yesterday, and the List, neither of them wanted to state the obvious – which was that Dereka looked like she had mistaken her own body for that of a sumo wrestler.

It was negative body image writ large, and – thanks to some late night reading on body shape and self image – Casey was ready. But just as he took a deep breath, Nora laid a hand on his arm, and said, diplomatically, “It’s a very…interesting look.”

“Comfortable,” George hastened to add.

“It’s…um…” Lizzie said, clearly not at ease with lying. “If you’re happy?” she tried.

Dereka stared at them. “But does it look like I _care_?”

Nora pressed her lips together but there was no avoiding it. “Well…maybe not care, so much as…don’t care. I think it’s the stain on the tee-shirt.”

“No, no, it looks like you care,” George lied.

“Just not about personal hygiene,” Edwin finished.

Dereka considered this. “Good,” she said, with clear satisfaction.

*****

“ – just don’t think that succumbing to negative body image is the answer. You should embrace your physical appearance and stand tall and proud as the womyn you are,” he said, as he chased Dereka up the corridor.

Unexpectedly she whirled around. “Did you just say ‘woman’ with a ‘y’?”

Defensive, Casey insisted, “It’s one of a number of accepted alternative spellings.”

Dereka tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. It didn’t seem to help because when she finally made eye contact with him again, she spoke through gritted teeth. “For the last time – I do not need an intervention. I do not need affirmations. I do not need to _meditate_ ,” she growled.

“But” –

“ – because this is me _not caring_ about the stupid List.”

“You say that,” Casey said, “But” –

“You want proof? Watch,” she said, scanning the corridor before beelining for the maker of the List himself. Casey followed, a step or two behind, as Dereka stopped in front of Truman and said, “Hey.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Hey,” he said, sounding a little bemused. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Truman.”

“I don’t care,” Dereka informed him.

Truman blinked. “Let me guess. This is about the List. Give me a second,” he said, as he put his head to the side, apparently scanning his mental filofax. “You’re – Dereka Venturi and you’re a six and a half. Or…you were yesterday.” he said, as his eyes trailed up and down her outfit.

He shook his head. “Wow. I knew I had some influence, but I had no idea my rating would get to you so much. Feel free to bump yourself up a point if it inspires you to take a shower.”

“I don’t need your pity points,” Dereka said. “And I don’t care about your List. As a matter of fact, _this_ ,” she indicated her clothing and general state of unkemptness, “is a statement of indifference.”

“That…comes through,” Truman said. “Is the chocolate milk stain punctuation?” He sounded amused.

“I don’t care,” Dereka repeated, ignoring him. “Actually, feel free to re-rate me based on current evidence.” She stared at him, eyebrows raised in challenge. “Go on, drop some points. Do it. It’s not like it’ll bother me.”

She stepped forward, uncomfortably close to him, and asked, “What’s my new score? Three? Two? Could I even have hit that all time low – _zero_?” Her voice broadcast how ridiculous she clearly found the whole thing, and Casey felt a rush of pride and something like affection course through him.

Until Truman took a step back, uncowed and apparently taking her at her word, as he looked her up and down. “I guess I’d have to give you…6 ¾,” he said. Casey frowned.

Dereka smirked, “Yeah, that’s what I th…what?” The smirk abruptly disappeared.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not really feeling the look,” he said, with a disparaging gesture. “But I _definitely_ dig the attitude.”

She gaped at him and he had the temerity to wink. Her mouth opened, only to close again, and clearly bewildered by this turn of events, she chose to march off.

“Keep working it and I’ll have no choice but to bump you up to a seven,” Truman called.

She flipped him off over her shoulder.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. He didn’t move until Dereka turned the corner, eyes amused as he watched her stomp up the hallway. Then, he bestowed a disinterested smile on Casey, and sauntered away in the opposite direction.

For some reason, Casey began to feel uneasy. It was like Truman enjoyed messing with Dereka. It worried him a little.

*****

Sally was sympathetic, which was lucky, because otherwise, she would have found it impossible to work with Dereka and her bad mood.

“That’s terrible,” she said, when Casey told her about the Truman List. She frowned over at Dereka, who was sorting cutlery with an energy that bordered on vicious.

“I know – and even when she called him on it, he still acted like a…” Casey searched for a term that communicated ‘Prepster Douche’ without actually using those words. Somewhat lamely, he finished, “…a real jerk.”

“Yeah,” Sally agreed. She tapped her fingers on the counter. “But…did you ever consider that this…might not be about Truman?”

Casey was confused. Of course this was about Truman – he’d made the List, and that was what had set this whole bad mood in motion. Still, Sally was looking at him like maybe he was overlooking something kind of obvious, so he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean – maybe Dereka’s not upset about what this one guy thinks of her…maybe she’s feeling down because of her whole image.” Sally continued, obviously warming to her theme, “I know it sounds silly, but everyone wants people to look at them differently sometimes. Maybe Dereka wants” –

“To stop being Dereka?” It seemed questionable to Casey.

“No,” Sally said. “But…don’t you think it might get kind of tiring sometimes? I mean…as long as we’ve been working together, she hasn’t had a date, and you remember how she was when _we_ started dating” – (Casey very carefully didn’t mention that Dereka’s attitude wasn’t a thing of the past) – “she came down with a _major_ case of couple envy. Maybe this is about her wanting to…climb out of her box, and being too scared to do it. Maybe what she really needs is someone to tell her that that’s okay.”

In a weird way, it was true. Casey had known Dereka way longer than Sally, and the only guy he could remember her liking, really liking, had been Trevor. Who had ignored Dereka’s crush in favour of crushing on Emily Davis. And then transferring from SJST High. And since then…there hadn’t been much action on the boyfriend front, what with the abrasive outsider kind of vibe Dereka had going. Not that she’d seemed to miss it, or anything, but –

It was kind of lonely, which Casey knew from experience. After all, pre-Sally, his own romantic encounters had boiled down to a year of not-so-productively pining over Emily.

Everything Sally said made complete sense. Except…

“I don’t know,” he said, because when it came to imagining a kinder, gentler, more approachable Dereka, his brain shorted out. He couldn’t see it.

He tried to explain what he meant to Sally, but she countered with his lack of experience at being a girl – and high on the idea of helping Dereka, she broached the subject.

Dereka apparently couldn’t imagine it either, as her reaction to Sally’s overture made clear.

“What?” she asked, hands on her hips and face set.

“I’m just saying,” Sally repeated patiently, “that sometimes, you can seem kind of…” she hunted for an appropriate word, and settled on the tactful, “…extreme. And we,” she gestured between herself and Casey, “could help you tone it down a little. Only if you wanted, of course.”

Dereka’s eyes flicked from Sally to Casey. “You know, as tempting and non-culturally loaded as that offer to remake myself to better fit conventional norms is, I think I’m gonna decline.” She waved a hand in front of her face, where her usual make-up had been reapplied, and said, “I see _this_ as a qualifying round. If the guy doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get me.”

Even though Sally had offered his help, Casey couldn’t help but feel relieved. He knew Sally was just talking about an image-change, not a fundamental-personality-change, but…Dereka was more herself than almost any other person he knew, and a change of image would just, well – change _her_.

*****

Unfortunately, Dereka’s staunch refusal to buckle under the weight of societal expectations was rewarded by…

“Oh, you have got to be _kidding_ me,” she said, as she watched Truman French and Emily Davis enter Smelly Nelly’s. The air of first-date-anticipation was practically radiating from them.

She turned to Casey, “You, Trevor…and now Canada’s answer to Tyra Banks? What does Emily Davis even _have_? Besides questionable taste in music.”

“Hey,” Truman said, spotting Dereka immediately, and approaching. He towed Emily along with an arm around her waist, like a must have accessory. “This is kind of funny – running into you here.” He smiled.

“Yeah. It’s a comedy of tragic proportions,” Dereka said. Casey took a step closer, until he was just behind her, his form of unspoken solidarity.

“So – you work here,” he said, looking at her shirt.

They stood for an awkward second before Emily hinted, “Can we have a table?”

“Unless of course, you don’t want us here,” Truman was quick to add. “We can have our date somewhere else, if you find this too awkward…”

Dereka’s eyes narrowed and she replied with a grand sweep of her arm that indicated Truman and Emily could have their pick of tables. But as he began to usher Emily over to a booth, Dereka put her hand on Emily’s arm. Emily looked at her, eyebrows raised, but stayed.

Dereka waited until Truman was sitting in the booth before she said to Emily, “Okay. Let’s hear it.” She folded her arms.

Emily frowned at her. “You’ve pulled me away from my date…so that I can _explain_ myself to you?”

“Uh… _yeah_ ,” Dereka said, like it should be obvious.

“You know, I guess I missed that crucial turning point in our relationship where what I do suddenly became any of your business, but okay. He’s cute. And he asked me out.” She shrugged.

“But don’t you think he’s kind of – a jerk?” Casey asked. He could feel his forehead creasing up at the thought of Truman being rewarded for his jerkitude by getting a date with one of the nicest girls he knew.

Emily thawed a little at his expression. “Thanks Case, but it’s not like I’m going to marry him or anything. It’s just a date.”

“Yeah, but seriously – _that_ guy?” Dereka asked. “Even you can do better.”

“Wow, yeah. Because insulting me is really going to get me on side.”

Dereka rolled her eyes. “That’s a cute dress and by the way you should dump your date. Better?”

“Are we done?” Emily asked, unmoved.

Dereka looked at her for a beat, before saying, “Yeah. We’re done.”

As she grabbed her order pad and prepared to follow Emily to her table, Casey caught her elbow. “You don’t have to go – I can get Sally.”

“What – and have Crown Prince Obnoxious think he’s getting to me? No way,” Dereka said, and shrugged off his hand.

Casey unobtrusively slipped into the booth in front of Truman and Emily, as Dereka took their order.

“So,” she said, as she jotted it down. “You two are on a date?” Her smile wouldn’t have fooled anyone who knew her, it was far too polite.

Emily looked at her warningly, but Truman said, “Yeah. We are.”

Casey craned his neck around the booth in time to see Dereka look between the two of them and shake her head. “You know Emily, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I think this is a step down for you. Or should I say – a Shlep down?”

Emily sounded annoyed, but she held on to her composure. “Thanks for the concern, Dereka, but” –

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I am not _concerned_. I don’t care.”

Truman leaned forward and said, in a whisper loud enough to carry to Casey’s booth. “She says that a lot.” The amusement in his tone faded a little as he said to Dereka, “Seriously, I get the feeling that this,” he gestured between himself and Emily, “bothers you. And I just want you to know that I’m happy to finish this date somewhere else if I’m…getting to you?” He smirked.

“Oh please,” Dereka said. “You don’t have the deep-mining equipment needed to ‘get to me.’”

She whirled around and made for the counter, where she fired several cookies onto a plate, before marching back to the booth and setting them down in front of Truman with a challenging flourish.

“We didn’t order” – Emily began.

“They’re complimentary,” Dereka said. As she turned her back, she muttered, “Unlike some people.”

When Casey unobtrusively slid out of the booth a few moments later and caught up with her, he said, “That was very mature and” –

Dereka waved a hand to silence him. “Shut up, I’m waiting to see if they choke on them.”

*****

It was – Dereka said all the right things, and her tirade at Truman had been applause worthy…but Casey also caught her frowning at her reflection in the cake display fridge.

Still, after Truman and Emily’s rub-your-rating-in-your-face type date, he figured that at least things couldn’t get any worse.

He was wrong.

The next day, they were ambushed by Dereka’s favourite frenemy, Kendra, who plopped herself down next to them in the cafeteria and said, “So, I’m sure you’ve heard I’m organizing a fashion show.” She stopped, grimacing at Dereka’s ensemble and said, “Wait, actually, let me rephrase that.” She cleared her throat. “Fashion is” –

“I know what fashion is, Kendra,” Dereka interrupted.

“Oh sweetie, if you knew what fashion was, you’d know that ‘ugly’ isn’t a style statement.”

Dereka put down her sandwich. “What do you want?”

“I want you to film the show,” Kendra said. “It can be like a documentary – like that Prom video you did.”

Dereka frowned. “You do realize that that was me…making _fun_ of the Prom.”

“And,” Kendra continued, seeming not to register Dereka’s words, “It’s a great opportunity for you, really. Think about it – you’d get to learn about fashion in a friendly and supportive atmosphere. With video tutorials for reference.”

“I think I’m going to pass, for some reason,” Dereka said, taking up her sandwich again.

“Do you really think you can afford to do that?” Kendra said, with another concerned glance at Dereka’s outfit.

“I promise, I’ll bone up on my fashion history some other time,” she said.

Kendra sighed. “Okay,” she said. “But I don’t know how you’re ever going to work yourself up from a 6 ¾ with that kind of attitude.”

A terrible suspicion dawned in Casey’s mind. “Kendra,” he said, carefully, “This fashion show…wouldn’t happen to involve – Truman, would it?”

“How do you think I’m picking the models?” she asked. “He’s agreed to judge with me.”

“Don’t you think that sends an entirely shallow, exploitative, and ultimately misogynistic message?”

Kendra looked at him with an uncomprehending look on her face. “Casey – it’s _fashion_.”

“Truman’s a judge?” Dereka asked, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, on second thought – I’d love to document this train-wreck.”

*****

Dereka was so enthused about the idea, that she talked Casey into begging a camera from Ms. Martinez. Then, she tracked Truman down between classes, tapped him on the shoulder and, while he blinked down at her camera lens, she said, “I’m making a documentary on Kendra’s fashion show. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure,” he said. “Shoot. Or…continue shooting.”

“Okay. Question one – you clearly have issues with women” –

“That’s…not really a question,” Truman pointed out.

“I wasn’t finished,” she said. “As I was saying – you clearly have issues with women. Want to discuss them?”

“Not…especially,” Truman said.

“Okay. Mind if I do? Great. Question two – what do you think the fact that you’ve rated every girl in your grade says about you? And, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your own creep factor?”

Truman shook his head, taken aback. “You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ about being rated, you sure do talk about it a lot.”

“I’m trying to engage with you on your level,” Dereka shrugged. “Question” –

“Question three,” Casey burst out, “Do you really think those pants go with that shirt?” He usually wasn’t so snarky, especially with non-Dereka type people, but Truman definitely deserved it. He even leveled a ‘so there’ look at him.

Dereka lowered the camera and for a horrifying moment, her face was a mirror image of her interviewee’s.

“Okay, seriously – who _are_ you?” Truman asked. “Sidekick, boyfriend?”

“Sidekick,” Dereka said, at the same time as Casey said, “Stepbrother.”

*****

“I’m getting a strong sense of déjà-ew,” Dereka said, as she watched Truman usher Kendra in to Smelly Nelly’s. He paused to give Dereka a smirk and a jaunty little wave before he guided Kendra into a booth.

She slumped against the counter for a second, before she pushed herself into a standing position and made her way over to their booth. Casey watched, frowning, because Dereka seemed subdued this evening. He felt a fresh wave of annoyance course through him, as Truman looked up at her and said, “Hey.”

“What can I get you?”

“Service with a smile would be nice,” he said.

“I’m all out,” Dereka said, unamused.

Undaunted, he tried again. “We’re discussing the fashion show,” he said. “Care to give us your perspective?”

“Uh, Truman – I know you’re trying to be polite, but don’t you think we should ask someone who has actual taste?” She smiled up at Dereka. “No offence.”

“None taken,” she said. “After all, you’re sitting here with _him_. It’s clear one of us does lack taste.”

Kendra nodded sympathetically as Dereka’s point flew right over her head.

*****

It happened because Casey was trying to help. And he only did it because of what happened when Truman and Kendra finally finished their date.

Dereka said, “You’re leaving? Already? Wow, time…eventually passes, doesn’t it?”

Truman just stood there, eyebrows raised, and said, “What happened to the complimentary cookies? I got them last night – there hasn’t been a sudden policy change, has there? Or – did you just forget? You’re looking a little tired” –

“Around the eyes,” Kendra agreed. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Something getting to you?” Truman asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Why don’t I put your cookies in a bag?” Dereka said, smile wide and teeth gritted. “Then you can bring them home.”

It was the last straw. Not for Dereka – for Casey. Because Truman looked so amused, like this was just a long-running game of snaps. Probably, like nearly everyone else at SJST High, he thought that Dereka didn’t even have feelings to hurt, so it was okay to keep pushing her.

Except that – even if she didn’t want to admit it, she _did_ have feelings, and Truman was currently stomping all over them.

So when she marched off to locate a bag and his cookies, Casey pulled him aside and said, “Okay, you don’t really know me, but” –

“Sure I do – you’re Dereka’s sidekick. Carey, right?”

“ _Stepbrother_ ,” he corrected, “And it’s _Casey_.”

“Casey,” Truman nodded. “So – what can I do for you?”

Casey bit his lip before throwing caution to the wind. “Listen. I know Dereka acts tough, and like all this rating stuff doesn’t bother her, but…it does. I know it mightn’t seem like it, but…you’re really getting to her, and if you have any human decency you’ll stop, and – why are you smiling?”

“I’m getting to her?” Truman asked. He shook his head, apparently delighted, and Casey downgraded his opinion of him from ‘thoughtlessly cruel’ to ‘outright sadistic’. “I _knew_ it!”

His smile grew, if anything, wider, and he clapped Casey on the shoulder. “Thanks for the tip-off.”

“What – I” –

Then Truman was turning to Kendra, and saying something in a low voice, and before Casey could process what had just happened, Smelly Nelly’s door was closing behind them.

“Where’d they go?” Dereka asked, when she arrived back with the cookies. Then, menacingly, as she caught sight of Casey’s expression, “What did you _do_?”

*****

The next morning, still sore from having rock-hard complimentary cookies thrown at him, Casey thought it would be bad. He had no idea.

Dereka walked fast down the hallway, head down, and Casey felt compelled to pant, “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

The irritated flick of her eyes was answer enough. And really, if Casey wanted a detailed response on how she viewed the situation, he needed to look no further than her outfit. She was dressed for a fight – she wore these heavy thick-soled boots she called (but only in front of Marti) her “sh…tick-kickers,” and the sleeves of her black top came down protectively to the second knuckle of her fingers…which were covered in rings, like updated armour. The chains around her neck were matched by the chains clinking on her jeans. Altogether, she looked partly like a teenage girl and partly like a medieval torture device.

And, right on cue, the enemy’s voice came from behind.

“Hey – what’s the rush? Seems like someone’s in a hurry this morning.”

Dereka dropped her head even lower, before throwing up a hand and spinning around on her heel. “Okay,” she said, facing Truman head on. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Get what over with?” he asked, and Casey could almost buy him as honestly curious…except for the hints of amusement around his mouth and eyes.

“Drop the act,” Dereka told him. “I know Jimmy Olsen here let it slip.”

“I’m not your sidekick,” Casey said, but without heat because Dereka had more important things to deal with at the moment.

“Let what slip?” Truman asked, though the question felt like a matter of form.

Which Dereka knew. “You want me to say it? Fine. Your juvenile, stupid, objectifying rating system got to me. You got to me. Happy now?”

“Delirious,” he said, and there was something in his expression, in the way he tipped his head towards her, that made Casey’s stomach flop over. Frantically he tried to categorize it.

“So – there you go. I admit it – you got to me – and now, we’re done.”

“Don’t you want to know why I did it?” he asked, eyes intent.

Dereka made a face. “I don’t know – maybe because your preppy little mind can’t handle the idea of someone not fitting in with conventional norms.”

“That’s not it.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Okay…then you think I did something to you – but I have to tell you, if that was your bike I accidentally backed over,” she threw an uncomfortable look at Casey, before straightening up and continuing, “I’m no longer sorry for not leaving you a note. Also, it was scratched before I did that.”

“Wrong again,” Truman told her.

“Fine – then…I don’t care. And I mean that this time.” She pivoted and walked away. Casey stayed where he was – because he almost had the word for what Truman was doing, it was there, on the tip of his tongue…

She had only taken five strides when he called after her, “The truth is…you’re a total ten.”

… _flirting_. It hit Casey like – like Dereka, knocking all the air out of him.

She stopped, and slowly, she turned. “I’m a what now?”

“A ten,” he said. “An _intimidating_ ten.”

Truman’s behaviour over the last couple of days turned upside-down in Casey’s mind, like a shaken snow-globe, as he tried to filter it through this new and unwelcome insight.

She took two steps back towards him. “So – all this rating sh” –

“ – tick,” Casey finished absently.

“It was a way to get you to notice me,” he admitted. He leaned in, as if to confide a secret, “And…call me crazy, but I _think_ it might have worked. So – what do you say to a date?”

He smirked down at her, and more than anything, Casey wanted Dereka to make jelly of him with her schtick-kickers and her insults. He wanted her to take him down, using that bored, feelings-are-for-other-people voice, and make him feel small and worthless – because that was what he deserved for what he’d put Dereka through.

But instead, she stood there, and said, “You want to _date_ me?” She sounded disbelieving. More than that, she sounded _uncertain_ , and it made Casey feel unsteady on his feet, like the ground was shifting.

Truman shrugged. “Come on – you’ve got to give me an A for effort.”

The look on her face…it wasn’t open so much as _ajar_ – and it made Casey think of the things Sally had said, that maybe she wanted people to look differently at her, see her in a new way. The idea that Truman might be one of those people made Casey feel sick to his stomach.

He held his breath, hoping desperately that she would say no. He never would have thought that the outcome could be so uncertain that he would _need_ to hope. Before, he wouldn’t have felt even a second of doubt. But _now_ , with the new distance between them, created when he’d started dating Sally, and widened by months of ‘almost-but-not-quite’ interactions – he was forced to admit that…he couldn’t guess what Dereka was going to say.

He didn’t _know_ what Dereka would do, and the realization made his heart thump fast, as he _hoped_ …

Finally, she said, words abstracted, “Yeah…A for effort, but F for execution.”

She walked away, and Casey closed his eyes, oxygen hitting his lungs in a dizzying burst.

“I’m gonna keep asking, you know,” Truman called after her, and she didn’t reply, didn’t turn around, but there was the barest hesitation in her stride. It wasn’t much, but to Casey it seemed as momentous as the toppling of a tall building.

He had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t anywhere close to over.


	3. Chapter 3

The first sucky thing was –

“Vancouver!” Sally said, and threw her arms around him.

“Vancouver?” Casey repeated. “That’s…” he swallowed, then pasted a smile on his face as Sally pulled back, “…really great!”

“I know!” Sally said. Her smile slipped a little. “I mean, I know it’s really far away, and” –

“That doesn’t matter!”

“It…doesn’t?”

“Of course not,” Casey lied. “What’s distance when you’re talking about your dream university?”

“I guess,” Sally said. “I just wish it was closer, that’s all.”

Casey wanted to say, “Me too,” but if he said that, he was afraid a lot of other things would come out. Ridiculous things like, “Stay,” and “Don’t go,” and “Who needs the arts?” So instead he said, “If it was closer, then it wouldn’t be Vancouver! And that would…suck! I am so proud of you!”

“Um, thanks,” Sally said, bestowing a somewhat bemused hug on him. “I’m so lucky to have such a supportive boyfriend.”

“I aim to please,” Casey said. His face hurt a little from smiling so wide.

*****

The second sucky thing was –

“ – gym activity sign-up day! I can’t believe you drove off without me!”

“What can I say,” Dereka said, “I wasn’t in the mood for yet _another_ unconvincing rendition of ‘UBC is AWESOME!’”

“So you left me without a ride to school? On _gym activity sign-up day_? And UBC _is_ awesome, by the way.”

“UBC might be awesome,” Dereka conceded, “but you? Not so much. And I don’t see what the big deal is – there are still a few activities to sign up for.”

Casey stared at her. “Curling. Or fencing.”

“I never said they were _fun_ activities.”

Casey sighed. “Well…maybe it won’t be so bad,” he said, as he carefully wrote his name down on the sheet for fencing. “I mean, dueling, swordsmanship…chivalry…”

Idealistic, romantic images began to dance in Casey’s head, the result of an adolescence heavily influenced by historical adventure novels.

Dereka snorted, pulling him from his daydreams.

“Yeah. Good thing all of those are still relevant today.”

“Hey, this modern world could do with a few old fashioned values. And chivalry is _timeless_.”

“Oh please,” Dereka rolled her eyes. “Chivalry is just sexism wearing fancy gloves.”

Casey opened his mouth to argue, because as unromantic as Dereka was, surely there were times when even she could understand the appeal of a knight in shining armor – but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the arrival of Truman.

“Hey, guys,” he said, looking straight at Dereka. “You thinking of signing up for fencing?”

“No,” Dereka said. “I thought I’d go with something fun from _this_ century. Like rock climbing. I got the last slot.”

“That’s a shame,” Truman said, taking a step into her personal space. “I was looking forward to sparring with you.”

“Guess you’ll just have to make do with my foil,” Dereka said, clapping Casey on the shoulder.

Truman barely even glanced at Casey. “In that case we should probably reschedule our date for Saturday at eight. That way, we’ll have plenty of stuff to talk about.”

Casey’s heart seemed to move sideways in his chest, in the second before Dereka said, “We don’t _have_ a date to reschedule.”

“Are you sure? I could have sworn we decided that the only way to deal with all this sexual tension was to…give in to it. I thought it was very mature of us.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Dereka’s mouth twitched, and Casey stared at her in consternation.

“Are you smiling?” Truman asked.

“It’s pity,” Dereka told him. “Because you’re obviously delusional.”

“I thought I was…until I saw you smiling.” As he walked past he called, “Saturday at eight – think about it.”

Dereka shook her head, then became aware of Casey’s accusing gaze on her. “What?”

“I can’t believe you’re even talking to that guy after what he did,” he said.

“Okay, Judgey McMorals, what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know – you could try ‘not smiling’ for one. Or not talking to him at all.”

“And if I do that,” Dereka said, “It looks like the rating thing still bothers me. Which gives him ammo, so…no thanks.”

“Right – so you can take a stand against chivalry, but when it comes to dealing with a real sexist, you take a pass?” He was a little surprised to hear how tetchy his voice sounded, but put it down to righteous feminist disappointment.

Dereka sounded annoyed too. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like I’m being nice to him.”

Casey really didn’t have a reply to that – other than the truth, which was that Dereka and Truman interacting _at all_ made him deeply, deeply uneasy.

*****

“ – such a great college,” Casey said. “I mean, did you know that the UBC library is the second largest research library in all of Canada?”

“Yeah,” Sally said. “It’s...great.”

“Not to mention all the other amazing features – the UBC Botanical Garden and Centre for Plant Research hosts over 8,000 kinds of plants. And the Nitobe Memorial Garden sounds really impressive. I think you made the right choice of college,” Casey said. It hurt to say, but it was undeniable.

“You think?” Sally asked, smiling a strange smile, like she wasn’t quite convinced.

“Of course,” Casey hurried to assure her. “It’s such a great opportunity – I can’t think of any reason you wouldn’t want to go.”

“You…can’t?” Sally asked. “Not even one?”

He could think of one – but it was a pretty selfish one, and as a loyal and supportive boyfriend, Casey refused to even consider it, let alone mention it.

“It’s the second ranked university in Canada,” he offered instead. “How impressive is that?”

“Yeah. That’s…impressive,” Sally said. The frown didn’t entirely smooth out between her eyebrows.

“There are over three hundred student run clubs, including” –

“Wow. Sounds like you memorized my prospectus,” Sally interrupted. She got to her feet. “I’m going to go back to work now, though, okay?”

Casey nodded and pulled out the book he’d borrowed from the library. It would distract him from thinking about Sally and Vancouver and goodbyes, at least. He cracked the spine on _The Art of Fencing_ and started chapter one.

“Did you know that fencing is directly descended from the duel?” he told Dereka as she wiped down the abandoned table opposite him.

“That’d be fascinating. If I cared. But I don’t, so it’s boring and lame – much like fencing,” Dereka said.

“It is not lame,” Casey argued. “The tip of the fencing foil is the second fastest moving object in sport.”

Dereka shrugged. “So it gets the silver medal for speed – that still means it lost out on the gold.”

Casey didn’t know why he was trying so hard to impress Dereka with the potential coolness of fencing. _He_ thought it was cool, and that was the important thing, right?

But for whatever reason, there was a small part of him that wanted her to agree.

*****

On the bright side, fencing did prove to be a distraction from thoughts of Sally and Vancouver. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly a _fun_ distraction.

Being in the same class as Truman was annoying, like hearing the continuous buzz of an insect but being powerless to swat it. Still, Casey was sure he could have taken that, if he hadn’t been _partnered_ with the guy.

It wasn’t his fault. He’d thought he could pair up with Emily, who had surprisingly signed up for fencing.

“Boys like swordfighting,” she told him.

Or…maybe not so surprising, actually.

So Casey had turned to her when their instructor, Fergus, had told them they would be working in pairs.

“Want to be partners?” he asked.

Emily hesitated. “Um…sure,” she said.

Casey frowned at her reluctance. “What?”

She looked at him apologetically, and said, “No offence, Casey, but I was kind of hoping to partner up with a guy.”

“I am a guy,” Casey told her.

“I know…I just, I meant a guy that I actually find att” – Emily stopped, and Casey nodded attentively, encouraging her to go on. She tried again, “I meant a guy who I haven’t already…there’s really no good way to say this, is there? Okay – let’s be partners.”

Casey smiled and was about to proffer his arm in a courtly gesture to her, when some guy tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Hey, I’m Evan…do you have a partner?”

A little taken aback, because he was standing right next to her – couldn’t this guy read basic body language? – Casey said, “Actually” –

“No,” Emily finished. “You’ll be okay, right, Casey?”

As Casey forced a smile and said, “Of course,” he thought that Emily, for one, had a lot to learn about chivalry.

A voice from behind him made him jump, then clench his teeth, as Truman said, “You can always partner with me.”

Casey unenthusiastically turned to face him.

“Might be a good idea, actually. I mean, when Dereka and I finally start dating, we’ll,” he gestured between himself and Casey, “probably have to spend a lot of time together.”

Casey felt the irritation just surge up. The way Truman talked about Dereka, blatantly disregarding everything she said, like it didn’t matter…it made his hands fist at his sides.

“No,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “Actually, we won’t. Because you and Dereka? That’s never going to happen.”

Truman tilted his head. “You seem really sure of that.”

“That’s because I listen when she talks. How many times is she going to have to turn you down before you get the message? _She’s not interested in you_.”

Unluckily, he punctuated this speech by somehow losing control of his epee. To his horror, it flew right out of his hand and clattered on the floor…right in front of the instructor. Who picked it up and said, drily, “Well, I don’t know about ‘her’, whoever she may be, but maybe _you_ should try to be more interested in your swordsmanship? That is, after all, the point of this class.”

Casey’s cheeks burned while Truman pasted an attentive look on his face and nodded as Fergus outlined the importance of taking fencing seriously, laid down the rules for handling the epees, and promised them a round robin tournament at the end of the week.

Worse, however, was to come, when Truman turned out to be an experienced fencer, a regular black knight in slimy armour, and Casey had to endure the embarrassment of Fergus asking Truman to help him with his technique.

Casey began to reevaluate his opinion of fencing – clearly, it was not a sport of honour and gallantry if a worm like Truman could excel at it.

*****

If there was an upside to Sally leaving, it was that it distracted him from the horrible Dereka-Truman situation.

For some reason, Sally didn’t seem enthused when he presented her with a handmade guide to UBC. He’d detailed clubs and societies she might like to join, highlighted lesser known features of interest around the campus, and he’d even composed a list of interesting trivia about the university. It had taken him a long time to make the booklet, but Sally barely glanced at it, and her mouth twisted into something that more accurately resembled a grimace than a smile.

“Is something wrong?” Casey asked.

“No,” Sally said, turning away from him and concentrating on wiping down the counter. “What could possibly be wrong?”

There was an awkward silence, which Casey broke by saying, “I think we should have a party the night before you go. To celebrate.”

“You want to _celebrate_ the fact that I’m leaving?” Sally asked.

“Celebrate that you got in to UBC,” Casey clarified.

Sally didn’t uncross her arms. She looked at him for a long uncomfortable moment, during which Casey was afraid she could read ‘Don’t Go to UBC’ on his face. Finally she said, “You know something, Casey? I don’t really want a party.”

“Oh,” Casey said. “…okay. It might be nice to do something just the two of us.”

“Actually,” Sally said, “I don’t want to do that either. As a matter of fact, I’ve just decided that I’m going to…do a final shift here.”

“You…want to spend your last night in London working? In Smelly Nelly’s?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Sally asked. Her mouth was set in a thin line, and her voice came out just a shade too high.

“…no,” Casey said.

“Of course not,” Sally said. “How _lucky_ does that make me?” She let the cloth drop out of her hand, onto the counter, and she spun around on her heel and headed for the kitchens.

Dereka, who was sitting at a nearby table, enjoying a sandwich and her break, cut into Casey’s thoughts.

“Wow. You really suck at reading women,” she said.

Casey whirled around. “What?”

“Come on, even you aren’t that clueless.”

“You mean…?” he gestured after Sally, and shook his head. “She says everything’s okay.”

Dereka snorted. “Yeah,” she said, drawing the word out. “Because you can always trust what girls _say_.”

He stared at her, struck into silence. Dereka had _said_ she didn’t like Truman. Often and loudly. But…if Dereka was right about girls not meaning what they said, did that mean that maybe she secretly…

“What?” Dereka asked, swiping impatiently at her chin. “Do I have something on my face, Prissy McTableManners?”

…did?

*****

His behaviour wasn’t valiant, he knew. As a matter of fact, the knights of old would probably denounce him as unfit to polish their shields…but he couldn’t help it.

The next morning, he cornered Emily before fencing class, and begged her to switch partners.

“But I already have a partner. And he’s cute,” Emily explained.

“Emily. _Please_ ,” he said, and for whatever reason – neighbourly affection, or, more likely, pity – she gave in.

Right until they walked into class, and Evan smiled and asked her, “Ready, partner?”

“Absolutely,” Emily said, linking his arm and mouthing, “ _He’s cute_ ,” apologetically to Casey over her shoulder.

Casey called after her, “But what about switching partners? You know – like we discussed?”

“Looking to spend some quality time with Emily?” Truman asked, coming up behind Casey. “Never mind – maybe you two can double date with me and Dereka on Saturday.”

It was just one more obnoxious comment, but it made Casey’s stomach burn with anger. He whirled around. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he said, getting right into Truman’s face. “Dereka doesn’t like you. She will _never_ like you, so _leave her alone_!”

And he did what he’d been dying to do every time an obnoxiously smug comment came out of Truman’s obnoxiously smug face. He didn’t even think about it, he just clenched both hands around the handle of his epee, and whacked Truman hard across the upper arm with it.

It was worth it just to see the smirk wiped off his face. “Ow – what is your problem?” Truman asked, rubbing his arm.

Casey opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Fergus was standing next to them, looking displeased. “Hey – did you use that epee as a weapon, after I expressly told you never to do that?”

Casey could see the smug look leaking back onto Truman’s face, and it made his fingers twitch again.

“I was _provoked_ ,” he explained, staring at Fergus, silently willing him to see Truman for the knave he was.

Fergus stared coolly back. “Well, provoked or not, you’re out of my class, sir.”

*****

He was examining the gym activities notice board and contemplating the unpleasant idea of begging his way into curling class when he heard Dereka’s voice.

“You got _kicked out of fencing_? I can’t decide whether that makes you more or less of a loser.” She sounded amused, and Casey felt an irrational spike of annoyance. Was it too much to expect a little sympathy, or the Dereka equivalent? He really wanted her to sound _admiring_ , but since she probably didn’t know he’d gotten tossed from fencing class because he’d defended her honour, he’d settle for an end to the amused almost- _pity_.

He turned, to find Dereka flanked by his least favourite person.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” he asked.

“Just standing in the hallway. If that’s okay with you, of course,” Truman said, holding up his hands.

“Did he tell you that _he’s_ the one who got me kicked out of fencing in the first place?” Casey asked. “What do you want now? To get me kicked out of school?” He took a step into Truman’s space, squaring up like he was challenging him to try it.

Dereka glanced between them, looking slightly confused. “O-kay, you can put down the persecution complex, Sir Overdramatic.”

“Actually, I came to apologize,” Truman said. “And to tell you that I’ve already cleared things with Fergus.”

Casey frowned, suspicious. “You have?”

“Sure. I know we’ve had our differences, but…fencing wouldn’t be as much fun without you.”

“So now, you can go back to class and, I don’t know, _not_ bore everyone at home with the story of how you got booted from fencing,” Dereka said, before muttering, “We’ve suffered enough, with the whole ‘UBC is awesome’ show.”

Casey regarded Truman narrowly, and his scrutiny was rewarded by the tiniest flick of his eyes in Dereka’s direction.

He straightened. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Trying to help you?”

“Trying to score _points_ ,” Casey explained, with a barely there nod towards Dereka. “And it’s not going to work.”

Truman raised his eyebrows like he wasn’t so sure about that, and incensed, Casey continued. “So – no thanks. I’d rather beg my way into curling, a sport I detest by the way, than accept your help. _Ever_.”

Truman shrugged. “Your loss.” He took a few steps backwards, and even before he smiled at Dereka and said, “But on the bright side, at least we’ll have a lot to discuss on our date,” Casey wanted him to trip and fall so badly the desire actually hurt his stomach.

But instead he spun on his heel, making a perfect exit, like this was a movie and Truman was the star.

“Yeah, enjoy the fantasy,” Dereka called after him, which made Casey feel a little better, even if it did lack the necessary venom.

“Mature,” she commented to Casey. “Sure you don’t want to run after him and try the ‘I’m rubber, you are glue’ argument?”

Casey gaped. “Because _I’m_ the immature one here?”

“You’re the one that got kicked out of fencing,” Dereka pointed out. “ _You_.”

She seemed amused anew by the fact, and it made Casey grit his teeth. “Thanks for the sympathy.”

Dereka missed the point. “So? If you’re that bummed about it – just go back. Truman said he cleared it with your instructor.”

Casey wondered if Lancelot ever had the urge to shake Guinevere. He had the feeling that it was easier to be chivalrous in the olden days, which maybe excused his outburst. “You shouldn’t even be _talking_ to him. _He’s_ the reason I got kicked out in the first place.”

Even though he was clearly in the right, Dereka snapped right back at him for some reason. “Okay – other than the oh-so-UBC-obvious, _what_ is your problem?”

For some reason, instead of backing off, he took a step closer to her and said, “What do you _think_ my problem is?” It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t figure out what. “I was trying to be a good –”

He stopped. He didn’t know why. Obviously, the next word was brother. Or step-brother. Obviously.

Which Dereka clearly got, because she looked him up and down and said, “Let me give you a tip. Brotherly is _not_ a good look for you.” She sounded just as annoyed as Casey was, though he had no idea why she should.

*****

It turned out that in order to get into curling, Fergus had to sign a form. So Casey trudged back to the practice room, and asked, a little stiffly, if Fergus could excuse him. He also took the opportunity to point out that he had never, ever been kicked out of a class before.

Fergus took the form and said, “I thought you were here to beg me to let you back in. Like your friend Truman.”

Maybe it was petty and small, but Casey _had_ to clarify, “He’s not my friend.”

“Really? Because he seemed to know an awful lot about your rage issues.”

“ _Rage issues_? That arrogant jerk!” Casey took a deep breath. “Fergus, please – I’m begging you – let me back into class. I _have_ to beat Truman!”

Fergus didn’t seem impressed. “ _That_ is a travesty! You must embrace the grace and beauty that is fencing – not use it like that just to prove a point.”

“It’s a really important point!” Casey argued, before relenting, “Okay – I’ll embrace it. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back into this class.” He remembered Dereka’s less than complimentary words about fencing. “Even if fencing is totally irrelevant and old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned? It’s not old-fashioned. And irrelevant? It’s an enduring art, full of skill and intelligence, and grace…it teaches honour, chivalry, respect – important qualities, all.”

Despite the fact that two days ago, he would have agreed with Fergus without a second thought, things hadn’t exactly worked out when Casey had tried to be _chivalrous_ , and defend Dereka’s _honour_ , and force Truman to _respect_ her wishes. So he couldn’t help saying, with a regretful twist of his mouth, “I hate to break it to you, Fergus, but, nice as those qualities are…they’re dead and gone.”

“No, not dead,” Fergus disagreed. “ _Timeless_. And worth fighting for – don’t you think?” He scrutinized Casey carefully, then clapped his hands together, apparently satisfied by whatever he’d seen. “Now, if you’re going to catch up with your fellow students, you’ll need some extra tutoring. I’ll see you back here, after school.”

*****

The extra tutoring meant he’d miss some of Sally’s last night, but the tournament was tomorrow, and it wasn’t like he was missing much. Plus, when he rang Sally, she seemed fine with it.

“You’re okay with me moving halfway across the country – why wouldn’t I be okay with you missing some of my last night.”

“Thanks,” Casey said. “And I was thinking – maybe we could go out after your shift. Spend some time together, and” –

“Celebrate?” Sally asked. “I think I’d prefer not to, actually.”

“Oh,” Casey said. “…okay.”

By this stage, he couldn’t remember whether Truman and fencing was supposed to distract him from thinking about Sally, or whether Sally was supposed to distract him from thinking about Truman and fencing.

As it was, the satisfaction he felt from finally mastering some basic fencing techniques, faded as soon as he stepped into Smelly Nelly’s. It wasn’t like this was going to be anything close to an awesome night, anyway, but every time he tried to get Sally alone for a couple of minutes, she remembered something she had to do.

He knew she wanted to spend her last night in Smelly Nelly’s, but it would have been nice to actually spend some time with her.

All too soon, it was closing up time, and he hadn’t exchanged more than ten sentences with her.

In spite of his best attempts to be encouraging and accommodating, it was frustrating. Thinking back on it, Dereka had probably expected him to snap. It almost seemed like she _wanted_ him to.

It happened like this. Sally went into the kitchen to help Pablo clear up, and Dereka brushed past him, towards the exit, coat and gloves already on, and said, “If you’re done pushing Sally out the door, I’m ready to go.”

“Pushing Sally out the door?” Casey repeated.

Dereka shrugged. “What else would you call what you’ve been doing this past week?”

He gaped at her. “Being a supportive, unselfish boyfriend!”

“Really? Because from here, it kind of looks like you just can’t wait to get rid of Sal.”

Casey shook his head. “You are _unbelievable_. I can’t believe you would misinterpret” –

“Misinterpret? You’re all but filling up her gas tank and buying her snacks for the journey. And you say you _don’t_ want her to go?”

It was like his feelings were a paper bag – and he’d filled it up with so much, fencing and being a good boyfriend and Sally and Truman and Dereka…

It burst.

“Of course I don’t want her to leave,” he half-shouted. “I _love_ her!”

As they stared at each other across the expanse of Smelly Nelly’s, Dereka looked suddenly small.

“I” – Casey said. For some reason, it felt like he’d answered an important question on a test wrong. “I” –

Even though she shook it off at the sound of his voice, she still didn’t look like herself as she swallowed and said, “There. Was that so hard?”

He blinked at her, and opened his mouth again.

“You love me?”

He whirled around to face Sally, standing at the entrance to the kitchen, and looking stunned. “I – Casey, I didn’t know…”

She took a step towards him. “You love me?” she said again, in that soft wondering voice.

He turned at the sound of Smelly Nelly’s door closing softly, just catching a glimpse of Dereka’s back as she left. Slowly he faced Sally again, still waiting for his answer.

“I – yeah. Of – of course I do.” His voice had sounded so certain when he’d shouted it at Dereka. It was strange that it sounded so thin and unsure now.

“I didn’t know,” Sally repeated, and Casey took a moment to think about how strange it was that he’d told Dereka before he’d even told Sally. It was understandable of course, in context…but still a little strange.

“Me too,” Sally said. “I love you too.”

She looked at him, and he wondered if he was expected to say it again (the thought, oddly, panicked him), but instead, she grasped his hand and led him to a table, and said, “How about we celebrate our last night in style?”

*****

They had sat and talked in Smelly Nelly’s until they couldn’t delay any longer. The night had been magical, perfect, and it reminded him of precisely why he lov…lik…felt the feelings he felt about Sally. So the next morning, when the alarm went off, he indulged in the desire to huddle under the covers and pretend today wasn’t happening.

Right until Dereka barged into his room, and said, “Nora says if you’re done with your manpain, breakfast is ready.”

Dereka didn’t meet his eyes as he sat up, still swaddled in his comforter.

The thing was, it felt like something had changed between them, but he wasn’t sure of what, or how, or why. The answer to those questions slipped from under his fingers like wet soap, leaving him with no option but to…carry on as usual.

“Can’t you try to be a little more sympathetic?” he asked.

“Because you’re feeling bitter about your puppy love biting you in the ass? No, I don’t think I can,” Dereka said. “So come on. Get up. Enjoy the first day of the rest of your life. Without Sally.”

“I know it’s not over,” he said, surprising himself a little, because he didn’t mean to be so open and sincere with Dereka. It was like he couldn’t help himself. “I mean, I can always apply to Vancouver.”

He wondered if _she_ felt the escalation of the strange non-normalcy between them, but her face gave nothing away.

“Breakfast’s ready,” she said again.

*****

In spite of the fact that he was wandering around in a numb haze due to Sally being gone, he felt actual nervousness as the hours ticked by and the fencing tournament approached.

“I didn’t expect to see you here again,” Truman commented. “If I remember correctly, I thought you said you’d rather drop out and take up curling than accept my help.”

“That’s right,” Casey said. “Which is why I got _myself_ back into fencing class. I didn’t need your phony ‘rage issues’ excuse.”

“Who said anything about it being phony?” Truman asked. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you have some serious anger management problems.”

Casey straightened and looked right at him. “Okay, Truman, let’s get this all out in the open. I don’t like you. In fact, I despise you. I think you’re pushy, rude, arrogant, obnoxious” –

“Oh please, you’re making me blush,” he said, placing a hand on his chest. Casey pressed his lips together and continued, evenly, “And I especially don’t like the way you keep hounding Dereka.”

“Well, you’d better book yourself into a ten step programme and deal, because I don’t see that stopping any time soon,” Truman said, not in the slightest bit affected by anything Casey had said. “I like Dereka, and I’m going to keep asking her out until she says yes…because I think she likes me too.”

“You’re wrong.” The anger began to simmer in Casey’s stomach, a frustration as deep and boundless as the last time. But different too, because this time, he didn’t lash out.

This time, he knew how to harness it.

He tilted his head to the side, as Truman said, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“Or we could settle this the old fashioned way,” Casey said.

Truman frowned.

“Did you know that historically, fencing is descended from the duel – and that duels were a long-standing method of settling disagreements?” If he closed his eyes, he could see the relevant page in _The Art of Fencing_.

“You’re challenging me to a _duel_?” Truman asked.

Casey shrugged. “We have the equipment, and we’re having the tournament anyway.”

Truman shook his head, disbelievingly.

“You don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” Casey said, honourably giving him a way out.

Truman looked at him for a moment, before deciding, “No – let’s do this thing. But – what are your terms?”

“If I win, you start taking no for an answer, and stop asking Dereka out.”

Truman considered it. “Okay. But if I win…you convince her to go on a date with me.”

“That’s not fair,” Casey said, because Dereka was her own person, and it wasn’t honorable or chivalrous to barter her in that way.

Truman threw his own words back at him. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” He grinned. “But if you don’t…I’ll consider it a forfeit.”

Casey drew himself up. “Then I just can’t lose, can I?”

“I guess we’ll see,” Truman murmured.

*****

When Fergus called their names, Casey was ready. He knew objectively that he was nervous, maybe more nervous than he’d ever been.

But…it didn’t feel like normal nerves. His hand was steady as he gripped his epee, and his feet felt solid and stable underneath him. It was like the knowledge of how high the stakes were allowed him to channel the nervous energy in a new way. He felt alert, prepared, focused.

Truman started off with a strong attack – no mercy, but that was fine, because Casey hadn’t expected any. He parried, deflecting Truman, then followed it up with a riposte, that scored a touch.

“Nice,” Truman said, “You’ve been practicing. Of course…I’m still going to win.”

Casey didn’t pay attention to his words, refused to get worked up by them, but courtesy of a clever feint-disengage, Truman managed to score the next touch.

“Told you,” he said.

“It’s not over yet,” Casey told him, going on the offensive, with a straight thrust. When Truman’s blade connected and parried, he went for a disengagement, followed by a lunge to his exposed left shoulder. The buzzer marked Casey’s second touch.

“Not bad,” Truman said, as they both got ready to recommence. “This is going to be closer than I thought.”

“Or maybe not,” Casey said, parrying his straight thrust. Truman grunted, and began probing him with a series of beats and taps. Too last, Casey realized what he was giving away but one beat-disengage attack later and Truman scored his second touch.

“No, I’m pretty confident,” Truman said, continuing the conversation. “Hey – does Dereka have any preferences – Chinese food, pizza…?”

To Casey, even though he’d never felt more present in his own body, it also felt like it was happening to someone else. Like he was watching it happen on a screen as – straight thrust, parry, beat-disengage, the tip of his epee making contact with Truman’s stomach…

…he heard the buzzer mark his final touch.

*****

“You really don’t have to do that, you know,” Truman said, but Casey ignored him, and kept his hand on Truman’s arm as he half-pushed him down the corridor.

His hand tightened as he caught sight of Dereka, and he shoved impatiently at Truman, directing him. “You know what to say?” he asked.

“I think I have an idea,” Truman said. “From all those _notes_ you gave me.”

They came to a stop in front of Dereka, who looked at the two of them, brow furrowed in confusion.

Casey could feel something swelling inside him, pride and satisfaction and the sheer elation of _winning_. It felt like he’d proved something to her, like he’d proved he was worthy to be a champion. And even though he knew that was ridiculous, because Dereka didn’t even know about the duel…it still felt good.

“Tell her,” he said, thrusting Truman forward.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m sorry,” Truman said, not sounding it. He threw a displeased look at Casey, and continued, “I shouldn’t have rated you – it was insensitive and mean. I shouldn’t have…”

“Harrassed,” Casey supplied.

“I asked her out a couple of times, do we really need to qualify that as harassment?”

Casey stared at him, stonefaced, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry I _harassed_ you, and I’m sorry I didn’t take no for an answer. I should have listened to you when you told me you didn't want to go out with me.” He stopped.

Casey cleared his throat, and nudged him meaningfully.

He closed his eyes. “Okay, before I say this I want to make it clear that I’m only doing this under duress – because I lost a duel,” he said. “I promise,” he sighed, “I promise that I will respect your last refusal and never ask you out again.”

“There, you happy now?” he finished, turning to Casey, who couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. He looked at Dereka, ready to share this triumph of respect and gallantry over knavish unchivalry.

She looked back at him for a beat, the same inscrutable look on her face as she’d worn that morning, before she broke eye contact and addressed Truman.

“That’s great,” she said. “So…Saturday at eight?”

Casey stared at her, dumbfounded, while Truman gaped, before pulling himself together and saying, “Um…yeah. That’s…Saturday at eight.”

“Good. See you then,” Dereka said. She hoisted her bag, and walked past them.

Casey turned to watch her, feeling like he’d just been pierced with a lance. Obviously, Fergus was wrong.

Chivalry _was_ dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Reaction to his initial stunned outburst had…not been favorable. As a matter of fact, Casey suspected his disbelieving, impassioned rant had probably done more harm than good – the simple fact of him being so strongly anti-Truman pushing Dereka even more firmly into a pro-Truman position.

But Truman wasn’t a complicated ideology, or a multi-sided argument. Truman was a blanket statement that everyone should agree on – like ‘war is bad’, or ‘people breathe oxygen.’

Accordingly, Casey tried a different, more subtle strategy. He left Dereka ample time to regret her hasty and ill-founded decision, before bringing it up again the next day, during lunch. Casually, of course.

“So,” he said, as he watched Dereka across the cafeteria table, “Anything on your mind? Any bad, spur of the moment decisions you’re suddenly regretting?”

“Yeah,” Dereka said, grimacing as she unwrapped her sandwich. “Tuna and pickle…can you say, ‘what was I thinking?’” She held it out to him, “Wanna swap?”

Casey manfully ignored the sandwich being waved in front of his face, and hinted, “Any _other_ bad decisions? Ill-advised dates you’re planning on cancelling, for example?”

Dereka looked at him, unimpressed. “Oh great. This again.”

“What do you mean, ‘again’? I’m just making conversation.”

“Yeah, about how terrible Truman is.”

“I can’t help it if the conversation naturally skews that way,” Casey replied with dignity.

“Uh-huh,” Dereka said. “I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just a date.”

“Yeah – a date with the guy who rated girls based solely on physical attractiveness, and then – as if that wasn’t bad enough – purposely lowered your score!”

“To get my attention,” Dereka pointed out. “It’s kind of flattering,” she said, as if she was just considering this now.

“He’s _insulted_ you into dating him!”

“You have to admit – it’s different. He’s different.”

“He’s a _jerk_ – and you’re letting him treat you like dirt because you think it’s _edgy_?”

“It’s one date,” Dereka said. “It’s not like I’m in love with the guy.” Abruptly, she devoted her full attention to peeling back the top layer of bread in her sandwich, a frown on her face.

Something in Casey’s stomach lurched. ‘Truman’ and ‘love’ made for an even more unappetizing combination than tuna-and-pickle. “You don’t even know anything about him,” he found himself saying.

“Right, because you ran a full police check on Sally before you two started dating.”

“I didn’t have to. Sally wasn’t _evil_ ,” Casey pointed out.

Dereka rolled her eyes, but she didn’t sound as annoyed as he expected when she deadpanned, “Yeah, well, if he ties me to the train tracks, you’ll be the first person I call.”

*****

Really, he’d only said it for the sake of saying something, but afterwards it occurred to him that he was right. They _didn’t_ know anything about Truman, other than the unappealing exterior he presented…and if _that_ was the front he _chose_ to show to the world, who knew the little shop of horrors that lurked within?

So he swallowed his principles and arranged a meeting with the one person who was certain to have every gossipy tidbit on Truman. Colour-coded, for his convenience.

But when Emily met him at the bottom of the stairs, she looked regretful. “Sorry, Case,” she said, “You’re welcome to look, but…I really don’t have that much info.”

“That’s okay,” Casey said, taking the notebook from Emily’s hands and busily flicking through it. “Even minor misdemeanors will help me build up a picture of his pathology.”

Emily blinked. So did Casey when he got to Truman’s profile page. “Truman French, went to a private school in Toronto before transferring…this is _it_?”

“I told you,” Emily said, taking the notebook out of his hands.

“Yeah, but I assumed there’d be _something_. A warning for littering…a behaviour report…a history of cruelty to small animals…”

“Sorry – I don’t think he even has a pet,” Emily told him. “I know you don’t like the guy, but face it, Casey – he’s clean.”

“ _Allegedly_ ,” Casey corrected.

*****

He didn’t buy it. The one word he would never use to describe Truman French was ‘clean.’ It was obvious from his behaviour that he was a devious, underhanded, Machiavellian conniver.

Casey just had to prove it.

Fortunately - and unfortunately - Casey had a lot of opportunities to do just that over the next day or two, because Truman, now smugly secure of a date with Dereka, buzzed around her even more incessantly than before. He hung around her locker, he walked her to and from class, he popped up in the cafeteria…Casey half-suspected him of somehow fitting Dereka with a tracking device and added ‘ _exhibits behaviour of seasoned stalker_ ’ to his mental notes about Truman.

It was when Truman pushed between them on the way to History class that Casey decided he was ready to upgrade his strategy from ‘objective observing’ to ‘interrogation.’

“So…Truman,” he said, making a good faith effort not to grit his teeth. “You know, it strikes me that…we haven’t really taken the opportunity to get to know you. The _real_ you.”

Truman smirked down at Dereka. “Really? Because lately I’ve been feeling like some people are just...rolling out the welcome mat.”

She didn’t look impressed, but he winked at her and continued, “Sure, it took a while…but in the end, I feel like my charm won over the natives.”

“Yeah…I hate to break it to you, but – the ‘natives’ aren’t that easy to win over,” Dereka told him. “They’re just withholding judgment. For now.”

“I like a challenge,” he said with a cocky smile.

Casey swallowed down his nausea, and persisted with his Q & A. “What brings you to Thompson High, Truman?”

“My bike,” he smartassed, with the barest look in Casey’s direction.

“I _meant_ I heard you used to go to some private school in Toronto. Why the big change?”

“Why the twenty questions?” Truman actually sounded annoyed, and Casey pressed his advantage.

“Why the refusal to answer? Something to hide?” he snapped back without missing a beat.

Truman looked a little rattled, and Casey was certain that he wouldn’t answer. But then he glanced at Dereka for a second, as if assessing her, before saying, not quite casually, “Let’s just say my private school no longer required my services.”

“You were _expelled_?” Casey asked, mind whirling as he tried to take it in. This was – this was even better than he’d hoped. Even Truman seemed to realize how big a strike it was against him – he sounded abashed. Well, for Truman.

“Seriously?” Dereka said.

He shrugged and she narrowed her eyes at him, as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. 

Thoughtfully, she said, “You know, the first time I saw you, I figured you were a total prepster-poser type.” She shook her head slightly. “But now…I’m starting to re-evaluate. You might actually be…” she leaned closer as if to impart a secret, “…cool.”

Casey’s mouth dropped open. “You think him getting kicked out of school is _cool_?”

“Well, ultimately that depends on the stunt that got him expelled,” Dereka qualified, eyes still fixed on Truman, “But…pushing the establishment so hard that it _had_ to push _him_ out? You’ve got to admit, it’s got potential coolness written all over it.”

Personally, from Truman’s reaction when Casey’d goaded him into confessing, Casey was sure Truman hadn’t _meant_ to push the establishment that hard. Admitting it, he’d sounded subdued, like this particular stunt hadn’t gone as planned. Casey thought Dereka probably had it right the first time – Truman was a prepster-poser who’d accidentally gone too far…not some anti-establishment radical.

But…whatever his other failings – and Casey knew they were legion, like cockroach babies – Truman _did_ know how to read people. So, when Dereka asked, “So, what did you do?” the miniscule traces of shame were completely gone, as he slipped effortlessly into the part of rebel-without-a-cause. He smirked, and asked, “That depends – what are you going to give me if I tell you?”

He took a step closer to her, and Casey began to feel uncomfortable. Dereka didn’t even seem to notice that he’d invaded her personal space. Even worse, as she considered him, he could see her tongue poking at the corner of her mouth, and given the way Truman’s eyes kept flicking down, he was probably attributing a sexual meaning to that. Casey wanted to tell him that it was just a habit Dereka had, that she had done it numerous times while sizing Casey up during _their_ arguments, and that just _proved_ that there was nothing sexual about it.

Truman leaned forward as if he was going to kiss her, and Casey thought he might actually lose the lunch he hadn’t yet eaten. Luckily, however, it turned out that that wasn’t Truman’s end goal, as he cupped his hand around her ear and whispered something.

When he drew back, he raised his eyebrows at her, and after a second’s pause, Dereka admitted, “…impressive.”

“Told you I was winning over the natives,” he said, with a smug twist of his lips.

*****

Dereka wouldn’t tell him what Truman had done to get kicked out of school.

“I don’t think you could handle it. You’d freak out.”

“And that’s supposed to _reassure_ me?” He spelled it out for her again, “He got _expelled_ , Dereka. That’s kind of a big deal.”

“It’s countercultural,” she defended.

He stared at her, bewildered by this sudden insurmountable communication barrier. To him, the conclusion was obvious. “Since when is acting like a bad role model ‘daring and audacious’ instead of ‘stupid’?”

“I’m gonna go with ‘since always,” Dereka told him. “Don’t you watch television?”

“Well, I still think it’s thoughtless and reckless,” Casey said.

“Then it’s a good thing he didn’t ask _you_ out,” Dereka said. She took a bite of her sandwich, as if to emphasise her point.

“I can’t believe you’re still going out with him. If Mom and George find out about Truman being ex” –

“If Dad and Nora find out, it’ll be because you told them,” Dereka said. With a quirk of her lips that was more warning than smile, she continued, “And _that_ would make you even less cool than you are right now…which I didn’t think was possible.” Her smile got even sharper, as she leaned back in her chair and mused, “It’s like you’re the anti-Truman.”

Casey sat up straighter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” It was a little strange, because there was no circumstance under which he would _want_ to be compared with Truman, so it really _should_ have felt like a compliment. But the fact that Dereka meant it as an insult, that she was ranking Truman above him…it made him feel tense, like he’d just been poked somewhere sensitive.

“Did I hear someone mention my name?” Truman asked, seeming to appear from nowhere. He hunkered down leaving his arms flat on the table, and he rested his chin on top of his hands. Casey felt a fresh wave of loathing sweep over him.

“So – our first date, huh?” he said to Dereka. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

“That makes two of us,” Casey muttered.

Truman smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Pops, I’ll have her back before curfew.” He turned back to Dereka. “Any requests, demands, special requirements? Your wish is my command.”

Dereka thought for a moment. “Actually…yeah.” She shot a glance at Casey. “Remember your first date with Sally? The flowers, the restaurant, the walk through the park?”

“Sounds like a lot of date,” Truman said, sounding a little thrown, like she had surprised him. “You…want that?”

“No,” Dereka said. “I want the opposite of that. I mean – it’s a first date. Let’s just go see a movie or something – low key, no _pressure_.”

He and Dereka didn't tend to agree on much, and it wasn't that much of a stretch to believe that their visions of 'the perfect first date' wouldn't exactly align. But Casey got the feeling Dereka wasn't just using his first date to illustrate that, she was using it to score points off him, for whatever twisted reason.

“For the record, Sally _loved_ all those things,” he burst out, aggrieved.

Truman ignored him, focusing all his attention on Dereka. He nodded to himself. “A pressure-free date? Just leave it to me.”

*****

When date-day finally arrived, Casey felt like there was a lead tennis ball rolling around in his stomach. He put it down to the fact that he hadn’t told George and his mom about Truman’s shady past. He didn’t even know why – before his and Dereka’s lunchtime argument, he’d known telling their parents was the right thing to do. And even now, he was still pretty sure it was the best course of action.

But he didn’t. 

It wasn’t because of Dereka’s jabs about his lack of coolness either. It was just…conflicts with her had a tendency to distort his moral absolutes. It was annoying, but the small sliver of uncertainty she'd created was enough to keep his mouth shut re: Truman and his sudden exit from private school. 

Of course, that didn’t mean he was at peace with the situation. And just because he was holding back the info on Truman’s expulsion, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to raise any of his other concerns.

Unfortunately, no-one else seemed to get it. When he told his mom that the guy Dereka was going out with was the guy who had rated her as a cruel attention-getting tactic, Nora raised her eyebrows but took it in stride.

“Well, sometimes boys act like idiots when they like a girl,” she said.

“Yeah, but do they also act like sociopaths?”

She smiled. “Don’t you think you’re over-reacting a little bit?”

He stared at her, and he could see the exact second when the repressed memories of the week of Ratings-Gate bubbled to the surface. But she just said, “I trust Dereka’s judgment.”

_“Why?”_

Nonetheless, in spite of her words she was hovering in the living room as eight o’ clock rolled around.

“You look very…sharp,” she said diplomatically, as Dereka descended the stairs. She was wearing ripped jeans and a top that looked like it had been involved in an accident in a scissor factory before being safety-pinned back together.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Casey and Nora both looked at her. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Nora asked.

Dereka stared back, but when it became clear that neither of them was going to move, she gave in and reached for the handle.

“Hey, you look great,” Truman said, peering around a huge bouquet of pink roses. He handed them to her.

“Uh,” Dereka said. She was forced to hold the mass of roses in a sort of awkward embrace.

“What lovely flowers,” Nora said, rescuing her. “I’ll put them in water for you.” As she took the bouquet from Dereka, she said, “Nora McDonald, Dereka’s stepmother.”

“Truman French, Dereka’s date,” he replied easily. Casey gritted his teeth.

Without the flowers to block her view of Truman, Dereka looked him up and down, frowning. “You look – fancy."

“Well, we _are_ going to The Olive Vine,” he said.

“The Olive Vine – that’s expensive,” Nora said. She sounded approving.

“The Olive Vine? I thought we were going to see a movie,” Dereka said. She shifted from one foot to the other.

“Yeah – but then I got to thinking. It’s kind of a generic first date, and I want to wow you.”

“I’m not really dressed for,” Dereka began.

“You look great,” Truman interrupted. “But we really need to get going – our reservation’s for 7.45, and the taxi’s waiting.”

Casey gaped.

“You’re paying a taxi?” Nora inquired. She sounded even happier.

“Yeah – it’s waiting out front…and the meter’s running.”

Dereka looked stunned, and Casey didn’t blame her. He felt railroaded by proxy. 

“Then you two had better get going,” she said, ushering them out the door with flapping hands. “Go! Have a good time!”

She closed the door behind them, and turned to Casey. “He seemed nice,” she said.

*****

He was lying on his bed in his room and watching the clock, running through possible date scenarios in his head, while someone practiced their hard serve against the walls of his stomach with the lead tennis ball. He turned when he heard his door creak open.

“Hey,” his mom said, coming to sit at the bottom of his bed. “You know, I just wanted to say that it’s really sweet that you’re so concerned for Dereka. Especially when I know how much you’re missing Sally.”

_Sally_. It hit him then…he remembered that Sally was in Vancouver. It was strange, because they’d exchanged a few texts and emails, but…he’d actually kind of forgotten about her.

He scrambled to make sense of it.

Really, it was understandable, if you looked at it the right way. This whole Dereka-Truman situation had distracted him. Of _course_ he missed Sally…he just hadn’t had the time to miss her properly yet.

“Yeah,” he said to his mom, because he did – he _would_ – miss Sally, and she gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Still, even though he’d come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he wasn’t missing Sally the way he was supposed to be, he found himself on edge.

So much later, when his cell phone rang, he was wide awake.

*****

“Don’t even ask,” Dereka warned, as she climbed into the passenger seat, and the lead tennis ball inside Casey’s stomach began to shrink.

“Date didn’t go so well?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice concerned and sympathetic. Of course, ‘concerned’ and ‘sympathetic’ tended to make Dereka’s skin crawl, so she shot him a sharp look and folded her arms.

After a few awkward silent seconds, she said, “I was going to get a taxi.” Casey took this as the ‘I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night’ apology he wasn’t going to get, and asked, “So why didn’t you?”

She flicked her eyes at him like she was debating not answering, but eventually shrugged in a self-deprecating manner and said, “After I paid for dinner, I was kind of short on cash.”

“He made you pay for dinner?!” The tennis ball was now smaller than a pool ball, and still shrinking.

“Yeah. Apparently the flowers and taxi cleaned him out.”

“But –that’s a _really_ expensive restaurant. And you didn’t even know you were going there until Truman told you.”

Dereka hunched in the passenger seat. “Yeah – that was fun. The best part was the way the waiters kept checking to make sure I wasn’t stealing the cutlery.”

“And he made you _pay_?” Casey repeated, still stuck on this point, even as the lead ball bearing in his stomach vaporized into nothingness.

“Actually, the maitre d’ was the one who got all bent out of shape about me paying. I was going to refuse, but then he explained that it was ‘pay’ or ‘dishes a la mode.’”

Casey drew a breath, taking a moment to savour the crisp freshness of the ‘I told you so’ in his mouth.

“Don’t,” Dereka warned. 

But even though he didn’t get to say it, the euphoric feeling remained.

It was over.

*****

Except...it wasn't. 


	5. Chapter 5

Casey had very firm opinions on how the next day was supposed to go. Truman was supposed to slink into Dereka’s orbit and shamefacedly beg for forgiveness, only to be rebuffed with a series of creative, detailed, and possibly foul-mouthed insults. With optional hand gestures.

It did not happen that way.

Instead, Truman breezed into view with a swagger that broadcast complete confidence. He leaned against the lockers as Dereka sorted her books, and said, with despicable aplomb, “Hey.”

Dereka didn’t answer, or even look at him.

“Oh come on, you’re not still mad about last night, are you?” Truman sounded, if anything, amused.

Dereka closed her locker and walked away. He chased after her, and (at a respectable, insult-overhearing-but-also-privacy-granting distance) Casey followed.

“I thought I was giving you what you asked for.”

Dereka turned, slowly. “In what world does ‘let’s go see a movie’ translate into ‘Take me to a fancy-schmancy dinner you can’t even pay for’?”

“I thought the date went well.”

“Last night wasn’t a date,” she corrected flatly, “It was a disaster.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Truman said. Casey frowned, because he didn’t seem to be getting the clear ‘go-away’ vibes. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even seem phased by Dereka’s coldness. “You said ‘no pressure’. And I thought – what could be less pressure than a date where everything goes wrong?”

Dereka stared at him. “I don’t know,” she said, like he was the stupidest person on the face of the earth. Casey approved. “How about a date where we just went to see a movie?”

Truman dropped his head. “Okay, I get it. I screwed up.” He paused. “But – I think you’re missing the point.”

“No, I’m missing two months’ allowance,” Dereka said. “Not including tip.”

She spun around.

“The point is…I had a great time with you.”

She froze, and so did Casey. This confrontation wasn’t exactly going according to his expectations…five minutes in and Dereka still hadn’t rolled out the big guns.

“I had fun when you yelled at me, and when you stopped speaking to me…and I’d even have had fun washing dishes with you,” he said.

To Casey, it seemed like _Truman_ was the one missing the point – which was that Dereka _hadn’t_ had fun.

She didn’t seem to consider this, frowning at Truman’s words, eyes fixed on his as if she could decide his emotional honesty by a game of ‘who blinks first’.

He didn’t blink. “So…do I get a second chance?”

She considered him. “This evening,” she said, finally. “Six o’ clock. Smelly Nelly’s. Don’t be late.”

Casey gaped at her. After everything he had done, she was just going to…?

Truman nodded. “It’s a date,” he said, before turning and walking down the corridor.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Dereka said. “And Truman?”

He stopped.

“Wear something nice.”

As soon as he disappeared, Casey closed the terrible-idea-hearing-but-also-privacy-granting distance between them and said, “I can’t believe you’re going out with him again! Of all the short-sighted, idiotic” –

“Unclench,” Dereka advised him. “And…did I say I was going out with him again?”

“You just told him to meet you this evening at Smelly Nelly’s!”

“Yeah…but I never said it was for a date.”

Casey frowned. “Then what” –

“I just think it’s time he put his money where his mouth is.” With an enigmatic smile, she disappeared into the girls’ bathroom, leaving Casey standing in the middle of the hall.

Clearly, she had a plan.

But, as much as he regretted the lack of verbal abuse being leveled at Truman, Casey was forced to admit to himself that he would gladly have settled for a quick end to the whole situation.

He just had a bad feeling about this.

*****

“You really don’t have to wait around,” Dereka told him, as she hung up her coat and got to work.

Casey ignored this. “You know he’s not going to come, right?”

Dereka shrugged, like it didn’t matter to her one way or the other.

Casey settled into a booth and hoped desperately that he was right. It wasn’t that he wanted to knock Dereka’s confidence any further, it was just…

… _Truman_.

But, since the guy was incapable of disappointing Casey’s expectations, even when he didn’t know what they were, he not only showed up – he showed up ten minutes early. And, just as Dereka had requested, he was wearing something nice – a white shirt under a light blue merino sweater with jeans. The tails of the shirt were artfully untucked and the cuffs peeked out from underneath the sleeves of the sweater. He looked dependable and trustworthy. He looked like he belonged in a picture frame – portrait of the Perfect Boyfriend.

Loathing burned the back of Casey’s throat, as he pretended to study the menu.

“Hey,” Truman said, smiling at Dereka. “You said ‘something nice’, but I didn’t know what exactly you had in mind…this okay?” He spread his arms wide, and watched for her reaction, though he didn’t sound uncertain. Casey got the feeling he was expecting affirmation, rather than hoping for it.

“Uh…” Dereka looked thrown, and Truman frowned. She composed herself quickly, however. “No, that’s – that’s great. Great.” Her eyes flicked between Casey and Truman, and she muttered, “Even if it is giving me a major case of double vision.”

Casey’s jaw dropped. Was she implying that he and Truman looked alike? He felt his stomach turn, but hastily reassured himself that there was no possible way her words could be true. He looked down at himself. He was wearing a _dark_ blue sweater, after all, and (he surreptitiously glanced over), his jeans were _much_ more faded than Truman’s.

Accidental eye-contact _did_ reveal startlingly similar expressions of disgust on both their faces…though Truman schooled his features into bland pleasantness remarkably fast and asked Dereka, “You nearly finished here?”

“Nope. Just started, as a matter of fact.”

Truman looked confused. “Then what” –

“ _Oh_ …did you think we were going on a _date_?” Dereka asked, with enough false sympathy to rot teeth. “Yeah…we’re not doing that.”

Truman looked at the ground for a moment, but when he glanced up again, he seemed amused. “Then what” –

“Dishwashing,” Dereka said. She shoved a basin at his chest. “I thought…why go to all the trouble of arranging an actual date, when Truman would have a great time just washing dishes with me? I mean – you _did_ say that, right?”

He was silent, as his fingers tapped the sides of the basin, considering.

“Of course, I _could_ have got it wrong...” she mused.

Truman set the basin down on the counter (Casey’s heart leapt), but made no other move.

“Did you forget where the door is?” Dereka asked.

“No. I’m just waiting for instructions,” he said. “Where do I start?” He rolled up his sleeves.

There was a fraction of a second’s pause before Dereka said. “Table six. And I’d start rinsing a.s.a.p. – they had their cheese melts with extra cheese.”

*****

Dereka didn’t take it easy on him, and by the end of the night, his sweater was a patchwork of stains – coffee blending with chocolate, and overlapping with garish ketchup and mustard. His jeans were similarly splotched.

Casey would’ve enjoyed it, except for the fact that, after all the customers left, it was just the three of them (Dereka having given Hannah, Sally’s replacement, permission to leave early), and Truman was grinning at Dereka, like he’d proved something.

And maybe he had, because as Dereka arranged the napkin dispenser and the box of straws on the counter, she said, casually, “You know, I’m kind of surprised you stuck around.”

Truman watched her closely. “I meant what I said, you know.”

She half-nodded, then leaned across the counter and threw something onto Casey’s table. The keys to the Prince.

“You’re in luck, Space-man. Looks like I’ve already got a ride, so…you’re motoring solo tonight.”

Casey stared down at the keys.

“So, does this mean I get a second chance?” Truman asked, smile in his voice.

Dereka looked at him, serious in a way she usually wasn’t, and said, “No. It means you get a _last_ chance.”

*****

And that was how Dereka and Truman became…Dereka and Truman.

It wasn’t the end of the world, Casey told himself. Except…it sort of was. The end of _his_ world, at least.

Which, admittedly, sounded melodramatic, but…he hadn’t realized before just how much – time – he and Dereka spent together. Time she was now spending with Truman.

It wasn’t…he didn’t know why it hit so hard. Maybe it was because Sally was so far away. Nothing dampened the spirits as much as separation from a loved one, after all. That might have explained some of his antipathy to the Venturi-French alliance.

Except…Sally being in Vancouver didn’t make him feel as left behind and alone as he did when Dereka started hitching rides to school with Truman…or those times she sat with him in the cafeteria.

He didn’t know the underlying reason why those things twisted him up so badly…but he _did_ know that a special sting came from the fact that it was Truman Dereka was doing all this with.

It was just…Truman wasn’t a good person.

He thought about saying that to Dereka…and realized that she would mock and laugh at him. And then he said it anyway.

“He’s not a ‘good person’,” Dereka repeated. “I guess I should have known – that Darth Vader suit did raise some questions.”

But that wasn’t exactly what he meant. He didn’t mean that Truman was _evil_ , he meant that Truman wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t good to _Dereka_.

He made dates with her that meant she had to rearrange the entire work schedule in Smelly Nelly’s. And then, once she had…he cancelled. He made these statements that, when you cracked the complimentary shell, were filled with an insecurity inspiring gooey centre (“You know what I like about you? You just…do your own thing. Clothes, make-up –it’s like you don’t _care_ what anyone else thinks. You’re so…different to the other girls I’ve dated”), and then, when she called him on it, he acted hurt and surprised that she would take his words ‘the wrong way’. When she showed him a rough final draft of the behind the scenes documentary about the school musical she was making, his ‘just being honest’ reaction made her scrap the whole thing in favour of a more hard-hitting (and incidentally, drama-department wrath-invoking) take on ‘My Fair Lady’.

The frustrating thing was – Dereka _got_ what he was doing…at least, some of it. When he complained that she was spending too much time on her revamped documentary, she signed him up as a backstage helper. When he cancelled the date _after_ she’d turned Smelly Nelly’s rota into a jigsaw puzzle, she forced him to fill in a weekly date schedule, like he was just another coworker.

“This isn’t a relationship – it’s a re-enactment of _Crime and Punishment_ ,” Casey told her. Meanwhile, Dereka held up a flyer with Truman’s face and the caption ‘Lost: one sense of humour’ (retaliation for a series of ‘jokes’ about her fashion sense).

“Shut up and hand me some pins,” she said, frowning at the school noticeboard.

He complied with half her request, placing four pins in her palm but continuing to speak. “I’ve read about this kind of thing,” he said, thinking about the copy of _The Manipulative Man: Identify His Behaviour, Counter the Abuse, Regain Control_ resting on his bedside locker.

“I guess that’s the difference between us, poindexter. You read about it – while I…do it,” Dereka said, as she pinned the flyer to the noticeboard. She stood back to admire the effect.

“Yeah, but in _this_ case, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Casey stressed.

She didn’t appear to hear him.

*****

According to Casey’s copy of _Ditch that Jerk: Dealing with Men Who Control and Hurt Women_ , Dereka and Truman were trapped in a circle of negative reinforcement. And while on the surface it appeared that Dereka was holding her own…Casey had his doubts.

He _knew_ her – and he knew that the indifferent front she presented was a cover-up, protection for the softer feelings that lurked (granted, quite far down) below the murky surface.

The rating thing had gotten to her, and that was when Truman had been a relative stranger. Truman only noticed that Dereka rose to meet every challenge he issued…Casey noticed the split second pause before Dereka marshalled her defences and settled the score.

He tried to discuss it with her without going into specifics, because if there was one thing that was guaranteed to make Dereka retreat, it was the threat of talking about her feelings. Accordingly, he started by cornering her during study period in the library (he would have felt guilty about this, but engaging in a sotto voce conversation with Dereka at least ensured that the library furniture remained undefaced) and cunningly segued into the topic at hand by talking about their English assignment on _Great Expectations_.

Of course, he soon found out that Dereka had no idea who Pip, Estella or Bentley Drummle were, but he at least got to his main point, which was –

“Relationships should be about trust and respect.”

“Yeah, because _you’re_ the expert on relationships,” Dereka said. “Anyway, this Pippin guy sounds like a total wimp. Isn’t he the one who wussed out about carrying the ring to the giant eye?”

Casey disregarded the less relevant portions of Dereka’s argument and said, “I know enough about relationships to see when something isn’t right.”

“And did you ever think that maybe the relationship you need to be looking at is your own?”

“What?”

“Okay, me and Truman might not be… _perfect_ ,” Dereka allowed, placing a weird emphasis on ‘perfect’, “But it’s not boring. At least we have passion – and I’ll take that anyday over the snoozefest that is you and Sally.”

Stung, Casey retorted, “Well at least Sally and I had the key building blocks of _caring_ and _trust_ ” –

Dereka yawned.

“ – what you and Truman have is a game of one-upmanship.”

She looked at him, and eventually said, “And how is that any different than what we have?” like she was actually interested in his reply.

And of course…he couldn’t answer. Not because he didn’t know the answer – he _did_. But – if Dereka really, genuinely _didn’t_ see any difference between her relationship with him, and her relationship with Truman…how could he possibly explain it?

He retreated back to his books, and didn’t say anything else, even when Dereka picked up her pen and began absently scrawling on the desk.

*****

It wasn’t the last time he tried to talk to her about Truman…but, whenever he tried, it was like all his objectivity and logic disappeared, and he ended up making snide comments about Truman instead, which Dereka ignored anyway.

Passion, he thought numbly, every time Truman dragged her into corners, or leaned too close to her, fingers around her wrist.

He spent his evenings checking out the UBC site, because he and Sally had passion too – just… a _long-term, forward-thinking, mature_ kind of passion. Why else would he be planning on following her to UBC?

Except…no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t visualize himself there. It was like trying to put himself into someone else’s dream. No matter how much information he learned about the campus, it remained fuzzy and indistinct in his head. And even though he and Sally still sent texts, and the distance from London, Toronto to UBC, Vancouver remained constant…with every text it felt like they were getting further and further apart. Like a localized, painful version of continental drift.

He still kept filing away data and facts on UBC, but even that was less about Sally than he would have liked. Really, it was because he couldn’t bear for Dereka to be right about his relationship, because that opened up the possibility of her having a point about Truman…and he couldn’t concede that.

At the same time, a little guiltily, he started checking out Queen’s University.

*****

It was some small comfort that his mom and George had eventually come around to the ‘Truman is a bad influence’ train of thought. It wasn’t that their parents ( _especially_ George) were uber-observant, but the killer combination of sudden secrecy, sudden unreliability at work and further nosedive in scholastic attainment attracted even their attention. Especially since there seemed to be a clear correlation between all these things and Truman.

While Dereka had never exactly been in the running for student of the year, even George had to sit up and take notice when he found out she’d been skipping Spanish. And even though she tried to downplay the whole incident –

“I don’t see what the big deal is – I mean, I was already cutting that class in _spirit_.”

– it rebounded badly a few days later when the subject of attending a party in Toronto with Truman came up. George lined up his best opposing counsel manner, cited all her recent Truman-inspired rule violations, and immediately shot down her request.

Dereka, being Dereka, retaliated. With song lyrics.

“Okay, you’re angry,” George said. “And I can understand that. But don’t you think that we’re mature enough to…actually talk about it?”

Dereka shrugged, a clear ‘what’s there to talk about?’ gesture. “ _Breakin’ rocks in the hot sun/I fought the law and the law won_ ,” she said.

George closed his eyes. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then?” he said. 

“ _You’ve chosen sides that blow my mind/And everywhere you go, you got control_ ,” Dereka informed him, narrow-eyed.

*****

It was an epic battle, that raged for three days. Dereka showed no signs of wearing down, or running out of lyrics. Or, as Edwin put it, “I haven’t seen her this upset since that she found out that Trevor guy liked Emily instead of her. Or since that time she found out that you and Emily were going on a date.”

“Seriously, how long are you going to keep this up?” Casey asked her as they brushed their teeth.

Dereka shot him a look of intense irritation and said, pointedly not looking at him, “ _The winner takes it all/The loser standing small/Beside the victory/That’s her destiny_.”

She flung her toothbrush into the cupholder with a force that spoke of her annoyance at needing to resort to ABBA lyrics.

On the morning of the fourth day – Thursday – as Dereka entered the kitchen, George said, carefully, “Good morning. And how are you feeling today?”

She readily opened her mouth, and he quickly clarified, “The censored version.”

She deflated.

“Don’t you think this is getting a little old?” he asked.

“ _I could be good and I would/If I knew I was understood_ ,” she told him. George let his head fall back and he sighed.

“It’s one night. Is it worth all this?”

“ _Youth is a war/I’ve the scars now to prove it_ ,” she said darkly.

“I mean – is it really that important?” George asked, and Casey stiffened in his seat. It wasn’t just the words, it was his tone of voice – he sounded a mixture of harried and cajoling. He was probably just trying to coax Dereka into a less intractable standpoint – but George seemed to have forgotten that, while weakness was a weapon, it was also, more importantly, _weakness_.

He could tell from the minute shift in Dereka’s posture that she realised it too, but George continued, seeming oblivious, “Is it even that important to Truman? What does he say about it?”

Dereka hesitated. A look of visible pain crossed her face as she reluctantly admitted, via Bryan Adams, “ _Babe it ain’t a party/If you can’t come round_.”

George regarded her. “I think you’re hurting yourself more than me,” he said.

*****

Still, despite that recently discovered chink in George’s armour, Casey was optimistic. Today was Thursday – in less than forty-eight hours, the party would be past history. All George had to do was hang tough for a little longer.

Which was why he was shocked when Dereka poked her head around his door and said, simply, without the aid of lyrical embellishments, “Hey.”

He scrambled to his feet, UBC webpage forgotten as he said, “I can’t believe it. Don’t tell me that George” –

“Caved,” Dereka said, as she sauntered further into the room. She stopped, and the triumph leaked out of her stance, as she admitted, “Well, on one condition.”

Casey folded his arms. “I hope you don’t expect me to congratulate you for strongarming George into betraying his principles – principles that I also believe in, by the way.”

“And principles that you can make sure I follow…when you…” she rolled her eyes, but forced the words out, “ _chaperone_ me at the party.”

Casey blinked. “ _That’s_ George’s condition?”

“Yeah, for some reason he went all sepia-tinted good-old-days-before-women-could-vote on me. So – will you do it?”

Casey couldn’t help it. He laughed. “So – let me get this straight,” he said. “Not only are you going to toe George’s line on this – you’re actually asking _me_ to go along with it too?”

“It’s the only way I get to go to the party,” she said, simply.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but – that’s not going to happen,” Casey said. “George may be willing to compromise his principles, but _I_ am another matter. I don’t like Truman,” he said, though that lukewarm sentence didn’t even begin to cover the boiling distaste he truly felt, “And even if you insist on maintaining this toxic relationship, I categorically refuse to make it easier for you to see him.”

He met her eyes steadily, refusing to be intimidated, until finally, frustrated, she looked away. Her gaze fell on his computer screen, and she shook her head slightly.

“You know,” she said, “Just because it’s not like what you and Sally have, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Casey swallowed. “Are you saying that you and Truman…?” he couldn’t finish.

“I’m saying…I’m saying it’s not – nothing,” she said.

He looked at her while inside his chest, something small – like a pilot light – winked out of existence. If Dereka – who would rather undergo surgery without anesthesia than admit to having emotions, was admitting that what she and Truman had wasn’t nothing…that meant it was _something_. Something serious.

And if she was serious about Truman…really serious, not just dating him as a two-fingers-to-the-world/Casey type of gesture, then…he had to respect that.

“Okay,” he said.

She frowned. “What?”

“Okay. I’ll be your chaperone.”


	6. Chapter 6

What happened next could be put down to nebulous concepts such as ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’. Alternatively, it could be put down to the fact that Nora didn’t want Casey driving late at night.

“Why do you assume _Casey_ will be doing the driving?” Dereka objected.

Nora bit her lip. “Be-cause…”

“Because, sadly, you reinforce every negative stereotype the world holds about female drivers,” Casey said.

“I’m a good driver,” Dereka said, scowling.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but they didn’t ask you to keep repeating the driving test because you were so _good_ at it.”

Dereka narrowed her eyes and said, “Do chaperones have to _talk_?”

In the end, Nora’s worry was assuaged by ringing her sister in Toronto and asking her to put them up for the night. In return –

“No,” Dereka said.

“We can’t just _not_ invite her,” Casey said.

“Sure we can. Look – we’re not inviting her right now! Personally, I think it’s going really well.”

“We’re staying at her house,” Casey objected.

“So?”

“So not inviting her would be really rude.”

“Weirdly enough, I think I can live with that.”

“Well I’m the chaperone,” Casey said, “And Webster’s dictionary defines the term as ‘one delegated to ensure proper behaviour’. As chaperone, I deem that inviting Vicky to the party is the appropriate, or ‘proper’ course of action.”

Dereka stared at him. “It’s like you _want_ me to hurt you.”

“It would be _nice_ if you invited Vicky to the party,” Nora hinted.

“Of course it would, Nora,” Dereka agreed. “But…I’m not a nice person. And you’re always telling us to be true to ourselves, so…” she shrugged, hands spread wide.

“I think it’s okay to tell a little white lie this time,” Nora told her.

*****

It was the decent thing to do. Basic manners suggested it. Common courtesy demanded it. And Casey regretted it the instant Vicky looked Dereka up and down with a ‘just joking!’ smile that made Casey wince even before she said, “Wow – Dereka. Nice outfit. But…just a tip? Halloween is a holiday, not a religion.”

“Thanks, Vicky!” Dereka said, with matching insincere sweetness. “And – just so _you_ know, being funny is _completely_ different from that other thing…what’s it called? Oh yeah, not being funny! No offence – you just seem a little confused.”

Vicky just smiled even wider. “I’m a little surprised you could make it to this party. Or – any party, actually. I thought for sure you’d have a prior commitment…doesn’t this interfere with your nightly sacrifice?”

“I only do that on alternate nights,” Dereka deadpanned. “Cleaning the dried blood off my clothes was getting to be a real drag.”

They held stares for a tense moment before Vicky cracked. “It’s so good to see you!” she said, bestowing a ginger hug on Dereka, who didn’t reciprocate.

She turned to Casey. “You too, Cuz.” Casey put his arms around her cautiously, the way someone might handle an adorable-looking dog that had a tendency to bite.

Vicky stepped backwards and said, clapping her hands together, “So – what are we waiting for? Let’s party!”

*****

“I have to say – I was a little worried when I heard that you guys wanted to go to a party to meet Dereka’s boyfriend” –

“‘Wanted’ is a strong word,” Casey muttered.

“ – but this is…not what I expected. In a good way,” Vicky said, looking around appreciatively. “And now, I can’t wait to meet the mystery guy. So, where is he?”

“I don’t know – somewhere,” Dereka said.

Vicky raised her eyebrows and the ‘just joking!’ smile reappeared. “Oh. Sounds like you two are…really serious.”

Dereka craned her neck and scoped out the party, clearly looking for someone. “Our relationship is based on this little thing called ‘independence’. It means that we don’t need to be together all the time.”

“Clearly,” Vicky said. “So – does Mr. Independent have a name?”

“Truman,” Dereka said, still scanning the crowd.

Vicky’s head whipped around. “Truman French?” she asked, sounding surprised. “ _The_ Truman French? The one who stole the car and got kicked out of school?”

“You know him?” Dereka asked, at the same time as Casey said, “He stole a car?!”

“Yes and yes,” Vicky said. She looked at Dereka. “We actually dated for a while.”

It took a lot to throw Dereka – but this definitely did. “You two dated?”

“For a little while. Back in ninth grade. You know, back when he had standards.” She put a hand on Dereka’s shoulder, and said, “Just kidding – you know that, right?”

“I’m sorry – we seem to be deviating from the main issue. Which would be – _Truman stole a car_?”

Vicky turned to Casey. “Yeah. That’s the reason he got expelled –it happened to be his principal’s car.”

“So Truman’s a _felon_!” he stared at Dereka, betrayed. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I can’t believe we’re socializing with a criminal!”

“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you either,” she said flatly, “I mean, you’re taking it so _well_.”

“Relax, Cuz, Truman’s cool,” Vicky told him.

His mouth dropped open. “Vehicular theft is cool?! Since when? Are we going to be attending an afterparty with forgers and racketeers?”

Dereka rolled her eyes and straightened slightly as she made eye-contact with someone. Casey didn’t need to guess who it was.

He pointedly studied the wall as Truman joined them and said, “Hey, you finally made – Vicky?”

Truman sounded surprised, and Casey decided that he needed to see this after all. Unobtrusively he turned.

“Hey Truman,” Vicky said. “You remember me. How…sweet.”

“You two – you know each other?”

“Vicky’s my cousin,” Casey said, enjoying the startled way Truman’s eyes darted from Vicky to Dereka.

“Funny, huh?” Vicky said, tilting her head.

Truman opened his mouth to answer, but Dereka cut across him. “No, not really. Again – funny is kind of different from _not_ funny.”

The smiles Dereka and Vicky exchanged practically came with the sound effect of clashing steel, but Truman was saved (unfairly in Casey’s opinion) by the sudden appearance of some guy who gave Truman a hand clasp mixed with a shoulder-bump and told him that, “All the guys are here,” before wandering off.

Truman pointed in the direction the guy had disappeared in, and said, “I’ll catch up with you later,” before disappearing into the crowd.

Vicky watched him go. “Looks like that independence thing is really working out for you two. I’m going to get a drink. Be right back!”

As soon as she left, Dereka –

“Where are you going?” Casey demanded, catching her arm.

“She said she was coming back,” Dereka said. “I say we am-scray before she gets the chance.”

“And as chaperone, I decree that that definitely falls under the heading of _im_ proper behaviour.”

“Then it looks like you get the pleasure of Icky Vicky all to yourself,” Dereka said, shrugging off his hand. There was a fraction of a second’s hesitation as she considered the direction Truman had left in, before she aimed herself on a different course.

Torn between basic manners and chaperonely duty, Casey started after her, only to stop. After all, Vicky would be back at any moment – and there was no reason he had to sacrifice courtesy in order to be a good chaperone.

Except…Vicky never came back. And Dereka was still hiding out somewhere in the crowd – he hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of her since she pulled her vanishing act almost half an hour ago.

Eventually he realised that neither of them was going to reappear, and he went in search. He pushed past groups of people, eyes scanning the crowd, the music too loud in his ears.

And then, he turned a corner and he saw them.

It was almost exactly what he expected to see – Truman, her, leaning close, lips touching. Except for one crucial difference – the _her_ he was kissing, wasn’t supposed to be _Vicky_.

The music seemed to mute as he stared.

This wasn’t a mistake.

It couldn’t be a misunderstanding.

And even though he hated Truman, it definitely wasn’t a hallucination on his part.

He turned and retraced his steps, suddenly desperate to find Dereka.

He cut right across the floor, pushing through knots of people like he’d never even heard of manners, and he finally located her at the edge of the dance space, being watched by an older man with glasses.

“Hey, you escaped!” she said, raising her plastic cup in salute.

He stared at her, words all jumbled in his head. “Dereka – I” –

She leaned a little closer and whispered, “I think this guy thinks I have a knife stashed somewhere. Watch – it’s hilarious.”

She let her hand fall to her hip and made a small thrusting motion, and the guy flinched.

“We need to leave,” Casey blurted.

“What – why? The car’s safe here – I told you.”

Casey shook his head and repeated, “We need to leave. Now.”

Dereka looked at him, and something in her face shifted. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Casey looked at her. “It’s Truman and Vicky. I saw them.”

Dereka gave an impatient little shake of her head, like ‘and?’, so Casey had no choice but to elaborate. “They were kissing.”

He watched her as she took it in. There was a long second of silence while she looked at the floor before meeting his eyes and saying, “So? Why should we leave the party?” Her eyebrows were still furrowed.

He opened and shut his mouth. “Because your boyfriend is kissing another girl!”

She swallowed, and for all the times Dereka was a brick wall with spikes on, there were other times when she was ridiculously easy to read. So Casey saw right through her when she said, with a bravado that her voice didn’t quite sell, “Yeah, well, it’s…not like we’re exclusive.”

“What? Since when? Two minutes ago when you found out he was kissing someone else? Kissing _Vicky_? This isn’t just another of his stupid games, and you don’t need to pretend it is just to save face. You should – you should march over there and –and yell at him. Storm out! Not let him off the hook!”

“Why would I storm out?” she asked, with a bright, lacquered smile. “I’m having fun.”

“Dereka” –

“Where did you say he was?” she said, eyes focusing in the general direction of his face, but slightly to the right.

Casey indicated. “Over there.”

“Great,” Dereka said, and took off in the opposite direction.

*****

The one thing you could say for certain about Dereka was that she stood out, and the party wasn’t that big, so Casey didn’t have any explanation for the fact that he couldn’t find her.

It wasn’t until he had the brainwave of asking the host’s father (the guy with the glasses who possibly thought Dereka was armed and dangerous), that he discovered she was outside the house.

“She, uh, doesn’t carry matches around, does she?” the host’s father asked, blinking worriedly.

Casey took a moment to reassure him that Dereka didn’t possess any flammable materials before slipping out the front door.

She was sitting on the steps, and she turned when she heard the door open, but turned back when she saw it was him.

“The music sucks,” she said quietly.

Casey looked at her. It was funny, but sometimes, all the spiky chains and the big boots and leather she wore to show how tough she was…sometimes it backfired and highlighted how… _not-tough_ she was instead.

He sat down next to her. “He’s a jerk,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She huffed out a thin little laugh and said, “Yeah, well, not everyone’s like you and perfect Sally.”

There was a beat before he admitted, “Right now, neither are Sally and I.”

He felt the force of her eyes on him, but he kept looking straight ahead. Inside the house, the music changed from a fast-paced thumping to something slower. It floated out the open window above them.

“I don’t think I’m going to college in Vancouver,” he confessed. Even though it stung a little, it was also kind of a relief to say it aloud, to let the words drift out into the world, contract in the cold air, and burst like bubbles. Like the pipe-dream following Sally had always been, if he was honest with himself.

The silence was broken by Dereka saying, suddenly, “What kind of kiss was it?”

Casey faced her. “What?”

“What kind of kiss?” she repeated.

His eyebrows drew together. “The kind where people’s lips touch,” he said, confused.

“No,” she said, impatiently. “I mean – who kissed who?”

Casey shook his head. “I don’t” –

“Did he kiss her back?” she asked, eyes intent on his. Casey stared back. The words weren’t making sense to him.

“Was it like…”

His breath caught as she leaned forward in slow motion, and the song inside the house seemed stuck on repeat, the singer singing, “ _You are, you are, you are_ ,” over and over again.

And even though if someone had presented him with this very situation, he would have put every cent of his future life savings on him squirming away…instead he stayed very still and closed his eyes as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth that somehow managed to be both chaste and flirtatious, while inside the singer crooned, “ _And you are – you are_ ,” breathless and a little wondering.

Then Dereka pulled back. “…well?” she asked, playing with her sleeves.

The world tilted back towards normal, and the disjunction made Casey blink. But he had to say something, so he swallowed and tried to explain, “It was more… _more_.” He made an abortive hand gesture in an attempt to describe it.

Dereka faced outwards again, hunching over. “Jerk,” she said softly.

They sat there in silence for a few moments, Dereka frowning into the darkness, and Casey mostly staring down at his hands in his lap, but finally she released a deep breath and said, “Okay. Can we go home now?”

*****

While Dereka waited outside, he went in to get her coat. And Vicky, of course.

She was in exactly the same spot, still with Truman, though this time they were talking, as opposed to giving each other mouth-to-mouth.

Casey didn’t even have to steel himself. He just walked right over there, and said, “We’re leaving. You should get your coat.”

Vicky laughed, taken aback, but Truman said, “What? You’re leaving now? I thought Dereka said you guys had that whole curfew thing sorted out.”

“We did. That’s not why we’re leaving.”

“What? Is something wrong? Where’s Dereka?”

“Oh, so now you care?” Casey said. He couldn’t help it.

Truman stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you didn’t really seem too interested in where Dereka was when you two,” he gestured between them, “were kissing.”

The ‘busted’ look on both their faces only lasted for a moment, and the strange thought skated across Casey’s mind that they probably would’ve made a good couple.

“Casey – calm down. It wasn’t what it looked like – we’re just two friends, catching up,” Vicky said. “So maybe you should just chill out.”

He looked at her, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Dereka’s never really struck me as the type who needs a knight in shining armour. Okay – it wasn’t cool, I get that, but…you’re making it into a really big deal when it’s not.”

“You should get your coat,” Casey repeated. With a last glance between him and Truman, she did.

“Where’s Dereka?” Truman asked.

“That’s none of your business,” he said.

Truman pressed his lips together. “Okay – I know that you’re just looking out for Dereka, and I appreciate it, but I really need to talk to her” –

“No, you don’t,” Casey said, folding his arms.

“Seriously – this is a classic case of misreading a situation and as soon as I talk to Dereka” –

“You’ll spin this so that it sounds completely innocent,” Casey finished. “Well surprise. That’s not going to happen this time. Because the only person you get to talk to, is me. And I. Don’t. Buy. It.”

Truman pressed his lips together. Evenly, he said, “Well that doesn’t really matter, since Dereka’s opinion is the one that counts.”

“That doesn’t mean you get a free pass on hurting her,” Casey said, taking a step into his space.

“What are you going to do? Challenge me to another duel?” He held out his hands, before stepping forward. “Listen – all I want is to talk to Dereka.”

Casey didn’t budge, and Truman looked away, shaking his head, before facing him head on. His weight shifted from foot to foot and he said, “I really don’t want to do this.”

Casey could feel his fingers curling into fists, before suddenly, a hand was on his arm, and Dereka was saying, “Come on, Casey, let’s just go.”

“Dereka” – Truman began.

She cut him off. “Not interested.”

“I can explain” –

Almost against his volition, Casey started forward, but Dereka’s fingers dug into his arm, and she said, “ _Casey…_ ” in a tone of voice that made him turn.

“He’s not worth it,” she said simply. “Can we just go home?”

*****

The car ride to Vicky’s was silent and uncomfortable. When they pulled up outside her house, Dereka stayed in the car.

On the curb, Vicky tucked her hair behind her ear and said, “Look – I know me and Dereka have this thing…but I didn’t mean…tell her I’m sorry, okay?” before she hurried up the path to the front door.

And then they headed home. Usually, a two-hour trip was just time enough to get through a really good argument, but this time was different. Casey let Dereka put her boots up on the dashboard and didn’t complain. Dereka didn’t take control of the radio, or make disparaging remarks about Casey’s musical taste.

The journey was quiet, and more than once, Casey wondered if she’d fallen asleep. She was facing away from him, looking out the passenger side window, slouched down in the seat, feet braced on the dash.

“We’ve officially missed our curfew,” he said finally, breaking the silence. She didn’t reply immediately, and Casey had just decided that she _was_ asleep, when suddenly, she said, “I’ll tell Dad and Nora it’s my fault. I mean I – see enough of you as it is. Don’t want to up that with a two-for-one grounding.”

Casey smiled out the windscreen as he drove. “You’re welcome,” he said.

*****

Dereka needn’t have worried, because there she didn’t get grounded. Instead, the weekend passed in a haze of sympathetic shoulder squeezes and offers to talk, and just-because-your-boyfriend-is-a-jerk pancakes. Of course, with the notable exception of the last, Casey got the feeling that Dereka would have preferred the grounding.

All too soon it was Monday. Even though Dereka didn’t seem noticeably affected, Casey was definitely on edge. Truman had phoned a couple of times, but, courtesy of a loving and supportive family unit, he’d never gotten through to her. School, Casey felt, would be a different matter.

And he was right – because as soon as Dereka stepped past the doors of SJST High, Truman was in front of her, large as life and twice as obnoxious. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She pushed past him and headed for her locker.

“Go away,” Casey told him. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Well I want to talk to her,” Truman said, darting around Casey. He stood beside Dereka while she took books out of her locker and ignored him. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

She slammed the locker door shut and informed him. “Apology not accepted. We’re done here.”

“I screwed up – I get it,” he told her. “But – haven’t _you_ ever done that? Wanted something so much that you just…got scared and messed things up?”

“Sell it to Dr Phil,” Dereka said, holding her books to her chest.

“I can explain,” he said.

“And I can ignore you.”

“Please,” he said. “Just give me one more chance” – he held up a hand so that she couldn’t interrupt. “I don’t mean as a boyfriend – just…to explain. And if you don’t want to forgive me, then, okay. I’ll stop bothering you.”

Dereka didn’t answer, and Casey hoped against hope that the ignoring policy was in full effect.

A hope that was quickly dashed when she asked, “And if I don’t give you that chance?”

“Then I keep asking you until you _do_ ,” Truman said, stepping closer to her, eyes wide and sincere. Dereka looked down at the ground, and Casey held his breath.

“Let’s get this over with.” She thrust her books at Casey’s chest.

“Waitaminute – you’re not going to” –

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. She met his eyes and for a second it seemed like she might say something else, but she just raised one shoulder in a sort of half-hearted shrug, before stalking in front of Truman and around the corner.

Casey stood there, holding her books, for what felt like an age. The bell rang, and even though he had never so much as been late for class before, he didn’t move. He only snapped out of the tin-man impersonation when Dereka came back.

She looked surprised to see him standing in the otherwise empty hallway. “Shouldn’t you be in class?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear the bell? This is basic keener.”

He pushed her books at her and said, “You’re not getting back together with him.” The words rang disbelievingly in the corridor.

Dereka took the books from him, and didn’t answer.

“You’re not – _why_?” he said, as hot pressure began to build inside of him, pushing on his chest. His voice raised. “What possible reason could you have for getting back together with him? To prove he didn’t hurt you when he kissed someone else? Kissed _Vicky_? To show that it doesn’t matter to you? Or do you just like him that much? Is that” –

“I never said I was getting back together with him.” She paused, then said, face inscrutable, “He said _she_ kissed him.”

“What?”

She shrugged. “And it’s not like _you_ mounted a protest when I…demonstrated…on you. You didn’t react at all, and I thought that if Vicky” –

Casey didn’t hear any more. There was a high-pitched noise in his ears, like steam escaping from a kettle – and it seemed to propel him forward, his mouth coming down on top of hers, and his hands landing on her hips, pushing her up against the lockers as he kissed her.

Dereka seemed surprisingly willing to get with the programme (despite the fact that Casey had only the vaguest notion of what said programme actually was), kissing him back immediately. He felt a sudden pain in his right foot, and absently realised that Dereka had dropped her books. It didn’t seem especially pertinent to the matter at hand, which was lips and open mouths and hands and touching, so he ignored it. He barely registered pressure against his face – Dereka’s rings, he thought, and kissed her even harder, before finally pulling back.

Dereka stared at him, breathing loud in the deserted corridor.

Casey swallowed, then lied, “That was it. At the party. The kiss.” Of course, he didn’t remember it being quite so drawn out, or so…lascivious…but a little artistic license was surely allowed in these situations?

Dereka nodded jerkily. “Noted,” she said.

Casey stared at her. “I should,” he said, gesturing down the hallway.

She nodded again. “Me too.”

They both whirled around and marched off in opposite directions.

*****

It was a long day, made even longer by the fact that Dereka seemed to just disappear.

He looked for her in the hallway between classes, and at lunchtime, but there was no sign of her. They were supposed to have English together, but according to Mr. Lucey, Dereka had been drafted by Ms Martinez to record an induction video for Spanish. “Of course, I’m sure she protested,” he said dryly. “We all know her boundless love of literature.”

So Casey dragged himself through the rest of the day with a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He waited after school, but Dereka was a no-show then, as well.

He walked home slowly, hung up his coat and dropped his bag, then sat on the couch and pretended to watch television. The pictures blurred and jumped in front of his eyes, like a multicoloured, moving Rorschach test.

His heart thumped when he heard the doorknob turning. His head turned and he swallowed as Dereka stepped in. She flung her coat in the direction of the coat rack, and kicked her bag next to Casey’s, before flopping down on the couch. She grabbed the remote from his hand, and began flicking through the channels.

“Looks like you’re not the only one without a date to the Prom this year,” she said, casually.

Casey looked at her. “You mean, you and Truman...?”

Dereka made a face.

“You told him he could try and explain,” he said, suddenly hesitant to believe it.

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I never said I’d listen. You’ve got a lot to learn about revenge, McDonald.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. It wasn’t the complete story, obviously, but here Casey was only concerned with the ending.

“You really broke up with him?” he pressed.

She stared with ferocious concentration at the television screen, where two men were sanding a plank of wood. “You’re really not going to Vancouver?” she said, out of nowhere.

He managed a shake of his head.

“Okay,” she said, as if the subject was closed.

He watched her click past channels he didn’t even know they had, relief singing though him, before he said, “You know, for Senior Prom, maybe we should” –

Her head snapped around, and he realised how strange it sounded as her eyes met his. “I mean – since we both don’t have dates, and we never got to do it last year…maybe we should do it this year?”

“Do…it?” Dereka repeated. Her eyebrows had seemed to climb higher with every word that fumbled its way out of his mouth.

"Not celebrate Prom,” he clarified quickly. “Obviously. Remember – not going, Mom getting some DVDs? Or – or we could always go to a movie, instead,” he said.

She looked at him for a long moment. “I thought for sure you’d be gunning for the whole Prom package. The girl, the corsage, the…night of cliches.”

He remembered Sally, and the Prom, and everything that had happened before, and after. His mind got a little stuck on the events of the morning (though that really didn’t have anything to do with Sally at all), before shaking his head and saying slowly, feeling his way through the words, “I tried that last year and it…was nice, but…it didn’t work out the way I expected. I think…this time, I’d like to try something a little more…low-key.”

He could have sworn he saw Dereka’s mouth twitch, before she nodded and said, “Sounds…”

He waited, strangely anxious.

“…okay,” she said, with deliberate calm. 

Then, she smiled.


End file.
